







LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 






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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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Our Profession 



AND 



OTHER POEMS. 



BA1 



PRINCIPAL OF THIRD WARD GRAMMAR SCHOOL, 

Long Island City, N. Y. 




PUBLISHED BY 

WILLIAM E. BARHITE, 

270 Freeman Avenue, Long Island City, N. Y 

1895. 



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COPYRIGHT, 1895. 



PRESS OF 
WEISEL, MEIER & WITTE, 

109 NASSAU ST., N. Y. 



PREFACE. 



During the past quarter of a century, it has been a 
pleasant pastime for me to obey the dictates of my 
feelings and inscribe them upon paper. 

The present volume is a collection of these vagrant 
pastimes, some of which have wandered far, while others 
have never before appeared to any eye save the writer's. 

To call them home, introduce them to each other, and 
properly house them, seems a parental duty. 

If in them there is a thought that shall inspire others 
of my profession to feel the dignity and responsibility 
of the calling, their publication will not have been in 
vain. 

The intent being good, the fruit cannot be evil. 

The Author. 



DEDICATION. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER, WHOSE DEVOTION, ENERGY, AND 

PERSEVERANCE LED ME TO DRINK AT THE FOUNTAIN OF 

KNOWLEDGE AND TRUTH, UNTIL I SAW BEAUTY THEREIN, 

THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 



The true end of life is to elevate man 

In body, in mind, and in spirit, 
That here he may serve some beneficent plan, 

Then a mansion in heaven inherit. 



INDEX. 



PAGE. 

A Beacon Light 129 

A Boy - 81 

A Lesson from Nature 189 

All Things are Second-handed 212 



Alone . 



140 



Amityville 215 

An Open Book 175 



A Picture. 



200 



Arbor Day Tribute , S* 



Artist Nature. 



119 



Boding Snow 174: 

Buttercups and Daisies 87 

Communion with Nature 96 

Courage and Faith 2( > 



Discontent 



132 



Drifting Away 158 

Duty Done 42 

Ere and at my Call 173 

Evil Habits 56 

Faces I Read 214 

Fact versus Form 29 

Fidelity 219 



Finis. 



231 



Fragments 127 

Good Habits 53 

Heartstrings 147 

Important Moments 166 

Incompetence 27 

Indulgence 61 

Interest 31 

Invocation to the Muse 9 

Kindred Spirits 16 ° 

Lake George, N. Y 106 

Liberty l54 

Lies H5 



Life's Emergencies. 



58 



INDEX. 

PAGE. 

" Lo," The Departed 157 

Love 142 

Many 40 

Maple at my Father's Door 115 

Memory 130 

Memory and Reason 32 

Mind Awakened 71 

Mirrors 39 

Morning Flowers 118 

Mountain Brook 99 

Music 120 

My Brother's Birthday 196 

My Choice 76 

My Mother's Love 192 

My Eoom in Boyhood's Days 202 

Nature's Child 105 

Nature's Voice 204 

Needs and Powers 19 

Oceanus' Mirrors , 116 

On Brooklyn Bridge 183 

Our Battlefield 49 

Our Politics 134 

Our Profession 11 

Perhaps 165 

Pious Pie Poem Puns 218 

Poundridge, N. Y 205 

Rest 123 

Retrospection 138 

Robin Redbreast. 110 

Rye 95 

School Days 162 

Selfishness 137 

Some Characters I Can't Admire 180 

Some Characters I Much Adore 177 

Soul Speaks to Soul 48 

Strand Despair 60 

Success 125 

Sunset 135 

Survival of the Fittest 66 

The Dandelion 90 

The Desirable Undefined 34 

The Difference 67 

The Evening before my Brother's Fifty- third Birthday 194 

The Farmer , 112 



INDEX. 

PAGE. 

The Flowers I Love 91 

The Fringed Gentian 89 

The Future 170 

The Goldenrod 86 

The Hair 152 

Their Life is what they Make It 185 

The Lone Bird „ 187 

The Morning Glory 94 

The Ogre 72 

The Old Farm 114 

The Requirements of the Hour 80 

The Rose 85 

The Second Sunday in May 104 

The Senses 44 

The Stream's Story 102 

The Teacher's Soliloquy 63 

The Thrush 108 

The Tree of State 82 

The Unwritten Letter 210 

The Voice 198 

Tim 208 

To a Mountain Brook 101 

To My Daughter Blanche in Heaven 197 

Trailing Arbutus 93 

True Wealth 217 

Twilight Hour 150 

Who Knows? 149 

Who Shall Judge? 169 



INVOCATION TO THE MUSE. 

PVIDACTIC muse Calliope, 

Expand thy soothing silent wings, 
Touch chords of measured harmony 
Wherein the soul ecstatic sings, 
Let language fraught with living truth 
Find such expression by thy art, 
As shall assist the guides of youth 
To fire the soul and win the heart. 

Remove the barriers which so long 
Have held in thraldom many a mind, 
Sing to the deaf a ransom-song, 
Be eyes to those whose souls are blind ; 
Teach those who mould the plastic mind 
To know that God hath never given 
A mission weightier, more refined, 
To angels round the courts of heaven, 
Than that of training human minds 
Committed unto human hands, 
In which the spirit e'er survives 
And through eternity expands. 



10 Our Profession 

Paint truthfully the living dead 
Whose sensibilities were slain 
By tyros, oft unskilled, unread, 
In all the workings of the brain; 
Whose concepts of the avenues 
That reach the mind of tender youth, 
Are labyrinths of tangled views 
Devoid of art, science, and truth; 
Touch but that chord of magic power 
Which gives the soul augmented bliss, 
And lifts it for the present hour 
Above the world's base selfishness; 
Then let the search-light of the soul 
Illumine every page that's read, 
Until an animated whole 
Shall supersede the living dead. 

Then, then shall dawn the golden day 
When Ignorance shall shamed-faced fly 
Before the potent living ray 
Of mind, touched by effulgency 
That pours its light in vital force, 
Upon the mind of plastic youth, 
And leads it gently to the source 
Of light and scientific truth. 



And Other Poems. 11 



OUPv PROFESSION. 

There's an art in our profession, 
Which cannot be wholly learned 
From all books in our possession, 
Though their leaves be deftly turned 
Till the mind shall grasp the meaning 
Of each truth they may contain, 
Yet there remains a gleaning 
Not a product of the brain. 

One may know the truths of science 

Till his mind may have full store, 

Or may place some great reliance 

On ancient and modern lore; 

He may count the stars in heaven, 

He may trace them in their course, 

And from data that is given 

He may prove creation's source; 

He may use the best of diction 

To portray his studied thought; 

He may draw from truth and fiction 

All the charm with which they're fraught; 

He may be a friend of Nature 

And may understand her laws; 

He may prove embryo creature 

Has within itself a "cause"; 

He may fathom all creation 



12 Our Profession 

And dwell among the stars, 
Visit every land and nation 
And return with honor's scars; 
Yet he may lack a power, — 
Occult to scientific truth — 
Which is Heaven's richest dower 
To the guides of ardent youth. 

Though all these may give a polish 
To the gem that lights the soul, 
They are weak, useless, and foolish, 
When they're taken for the whole 
Of all the powers required 
To entrance the youthful mind, 
With a spirit so inspired 
As to touch the eyes of blind 
With a bright illumination 
That shall prove itself to be 
More than a corruscation 
Of a short-lived ecstasy. 

By intuition, children know 

A heart that cares for them; 

They recognize a friend or foe, 

At instantaneous ken. 

No mask can shield a fraud or fool, 

E'en from a puerile mind; 

It knows by rules not learned at school 

The way true hearts to find. 

An earnest love, unbounded, firm, — 



And Othek Poems. 13 

A God-gift from our birth — 

By far outweighs the noblest charm 

Can be acquired on earth. 

Who has not drunk deep at the well 

Of childhood's innocence, 

Or thinks that he should ever dwell 

At such an eminence, 

That he can never bend to raise 

And cheer a longing heart, 

Will waste his precious hours and days, 

And finally depart 

Without such fruitage or reward 

As ever should be given 

To him, who serves master or Lord, 

And hopes for bliss in heaven. 

Who sees no soul-buds here expand 

To blossom by and by, 

Hath fathomed not the great command 

For which we live and die. 

The State demands that every son 

And daughter shall be free 

From ignorance and vice which run 

Toward crime and misery. 

The future of our noble State 

Dwells now in plastic form; 

If she her past would emulate 

And meet the coming storm 

Of chaos, whose portentous wing 



14 Our Profession 

Seems hovering not afar, 

In every school-room we should sing 

Of banner and of star 

That gave the land to Liberty, 

And with a bold huzza 

Proclaim that he who would be free 

Must honor right and law. 

Who serves his State and fellow-man 

And plies his skill at best, 

Assists to carry out the plan 

To make all truly blest; 

He may not sit in marble hall 

"Where legislators meet, 

Nor may he rear fine towers tall, 

Or dwell in a retreat 

Where monks and nuns with solemn prayer 

Pour out their orison; 

The test of faith is filial care, 

And duty nobly done. 

Minds let us mould, men may we rear, 

For God, for State, for man, 

Using the right without a fear 

To mar the heaven-born plan. 

The test of great didactic skill 

Is not to train the few 

Whose active genius, tact, and will 

Are always plain to view; 

But he who takes an inert mind, 



Axd Other Poems. 15 

Housed in a sluggish frame, 

And forms such man as God designed, 

Deserves an honored name. 

Like Sisyphus some ever roll 

The same old round of things 

Which dwarf the mind and starve the soul, 

Until they long for wings 

To fly from dull monotony, 

Which carries in its train 

That wreck of thought— Despondency — 

Which, preys on heart and brain. 

The artist knows the colors best 
That blend in harmony 
With richest cloud-scenes, in the west, 
That gild the sunset sky; 
The minstrel knows what song to sing- 
To please the multitude; 
His fingers deftly touch the strings 
That yield response subdued 
When weary soul would find relief 
From sorrow's withering sigh, 
Or when the heart is bowed with grief, 
And tear-drops dew the eye ; 
But when the soul is full of joy, 
How jubilant the strain 
The tactful artist will employ 
To please the heart and brain. 



16 Our Profession 

If those who toil in lowly spheres 

Employ such artful ways 

To charm the dull and listless ears 

That such may sound their praise, 

"Why should the artist of the mind 

Shrink from that noble aim 

That seeks to elevate mankind, 

And light a deathless flame ! 

Or why should he who shapes the lives 

And destiny of man, 

Be less exact than he who strives 

From mercenary plan. 

No instrument man ever made — 

None ever can be found — 

No matter when or where 'tis played, 

Will yield so rich a sound 

As that which falls from human tongue 

When heart speaks unto heart, 

Nor are its mysteries among 

The hidden things of art; 

A tyro on life's winding road 

Reads understandingly 

Each tone and word, each varied mode 

The tongue and form portray. 

Our heart's intents are from our looks 
More plainly to be read, 
Than thoughts expressed in printed books 
Whose language oft seems dead, 



And Other Poems. 17 

Because it lacks a living form — 
A voiceless, dull decree 
That of itself has little charm 
For youth's activity. 

A potent charm of living light 

Flows with resistless force, 

Dispelling clouds of mental night 

That meet its onward course, 

"When all the soul is centred in 

The great and primal thought 

That services which hearts would win, 

"With price can ne'er be bought. 

Such service heaven alone repays 

E'en though on earth 'tis done, 

Its echoes last through endless days, 

And dies but with the sun. 

A mercenary soul must find 

A more congenial field 

Than that of training human mind 

Wherein a soul's concealed, 

If it would live out all the days 

Allotted unto man, 

And bask in all the genial rays 

Kevealed in God's great plan. 

No lubrication of the nerves 
Has ever yet been found, 
For him who like a menial serves 
Dull lesson's daily round; 



18 Our Profession 

But gnawing friction, stern and gaunt, 

Tears flesh and brain away, 

While ghosts nocturnal ever haunt 

A soul with fell dismay, 

Whose mercenary greed has led 

Itself into a snare 

That counts by scores its strangled dead, 

Its hundreds, in despair. 

He doubly lives who can forget 
Himself and his own ease, 
While toiling patiently to set 
New gems in crowns he sees, 
That may adorn some other head 
Than that he calls his own, 
And animate the germs wide spread 
In seeds already sown. 



To skim the surface of knowledge, 
And seldom its root to reach, 
Is a receipe one may offer 
To direct " How Not To Teach." 



1 Q 

Ais T D Otheb Poems. xu 



NEEDS AND POWERS. 

T KNOW of no profession 
1 'Mong profane or divine, 
Excelling in its mission 
The power embraced in mine. 

It reaches earth and heaven 
Through heart and soul of man, 
It lives beyond the present- 
Eternity doth span. 

Mind in its first formation, 
While in its plastic state, 
Receives primal impressions 
Which make it vile or great. 

When soil of thought is fertile 
And ready for the seeds, 
It may bring precious fruitage, 
Or vile and noxious weeds. 

No sower should be careless, 
For harvest much depends 
Upon the well-selected seeds, 
With mental soil he blends. 



20 Our Profession 

If field be ricli and mellow 
And no good seed be sown, 
With tangled mass of vileness 
It will be overgrown, 

And shield the deadly serpent, 
The basilisk of sin, 
That far exhales its pois'nous breath, 
Then crawls its den within. 

No atoms of pollution 
In matter e'er was known, 
So vile or so destructive 
As soul by sin o'erthrown. 

The vilest spot upon the earth, 
Through sunshine, air, and rain, 
May be transformed in ev'ry part 
And purified again. 

The fields where chaos reigned supreme 
And Nature frowned aghast, 
By patient-toil have fruitage borne 
And blossomed fragrance cast. 

The wreck of spheres by traction's laws 
Hurled wildly into space, 
May gather atoms round itself 
And find some resting place 



And Other Poems. 21 

Where it may serve creation's end, 
And 'mong the planets roll, 
True to the laws of gravity 
That marks its outer pole. 

The mind and soul can never 
Within themselves find rest, 
WTaen all the sin's pollutions 
Are harbored in the breast. 

Then sow good seed, brave teacher, 
And deeply plant with care, 
That both here and hereafter 
Kich harvest it may bear. 

The sowing may be silent — 
It may be but a tear, 
Its strength is in its purpose, 
Its aim must be sincere. 

It should not be a rite or creed, 
But wider far than these, 
It should encompass God and man, 
Home and antipodes. 

To learn the truths of science, 
Know tables, books and charts, 
To analyze the potent thrill 
That fires all earnest hearts, 



Our Profession 

To revel in the mysteries 
That lie deep in the earth, 
To give the proper data 
When planets had their birth, 

To know the exact elements 
That constitute the sun, 
The causes why swift currents 
Within the ocean run, 

The ratio of the vapors 
That color sunset skies, 
Time's infinitesimal fraction 
When planets set and rise, 

To solve the problems of the air, 
The secrets of the deep, 
Are all intrinsic subjects 
And worthy of our keep. 

But these alone are worthless, 
They need augmented force 
To lead mind toward the fountain 
From which it had its source. 

They leave one vital question — 
Development of man — 
Without e'en crude solution, 
Without a working plan. 



And Other Poems. 23 

They leave the mighty problem 
Of Maker and the Made, 
Devoid of any sequence, 
Or any plan portrayed. 

These are of greatest moment 
To persons and to State, 
Upon their wise adjustment 
Must hang progression's fate. 

Cold are the truths of science, 
Lifeless their every plan, 
Until in living presence, 
They're crystalized in man. 

As hidden truths are useless 
And aid not human skill, 
So slumber mighty forces 
Through lack of human will. 

To know the right is not enough, 
It must be given power 
Through culture of the heart and soul, 
If it shall blessings shower. 

To State, to manhood and to God 
Must mind be wholly given, 
Ere truth will shine a beacon light, 
To illumine earth and heaven. 



24 Our Profession 

All tilings were made but to subserve 
Man's powers to improve, 
And beautify bis being bere 
Tbrougb cbarity and love. 

Power, gold, and wealtb are agencies 
Placed in a creature's band 
To serve an end, but not to rule, — 
Obey, but not command. 

As mind and soul matter surpass 
And error flies from truth, 
So should we train the nobler parts 
Of plastic, trusting youth. 

The sacred man by God ordained, 
Links sinful earth with heaven, 
But his success oft must depend 
On how instruction's given. 

The holy task of training mind 

Is not a trivial thing, 

Its influence lives, grows and expands 

Till harvest it shall bring. 

No task, to human hands assigned, 
Excels in force and weight 
The grave responsibilities 
Of those who educate. 



And Other Poems. 25 

Let knowledge of the sciences, 
Skill in didactic art, 
Power in the impulse of the soul 
A knowledge to impart, 

A love for God and human kind, 
Forgetfulness of self, 
A heart devoted to the cause 
More than to worldly pelf, 

Be given as a heritage 
To those who fain would teach, 
Then living truth shall nourish, 
And all mankind shall reach. 



There's an ebb and now of sentiment 
In educational tides, 
Which oft discards some solid old facts, 
And on wild new hobbies rides. 
The educator of modern times 
Must prove the false and the true, 
Hold fast the worthy of the old, 
Unprejudiced, test the new. 



26 Our Profession 



COURAGE AND FAITH. 



r^ OURAGE and Faith are of heavenly birth, 
Though sent down to our lowly earth 

To cheer the heart of man ; 
They are only strong when the human soul 
Yields perfect trust and full control 

To heaven's benignant plan. 

Nature expands when this God- sent pair 
Finds a fertile heart that needs the care 

Of a messenger divine, 
And permits their strength to succor give 
That truth may grow and honor live 

To yield their fruit benign. 



Who gives no sunshine from his soul 
Must live in darkness ever, 
For Nature scorns to such degree, 
She blinds a sordid giver. 



Jn J 



But he who scatters noble deeds, 
And lives to bless mankind, 
Shall see the beauties God reveals 
To men with hearts refined. 



And Othee, Poem-]. 



INCOMPETENCE. 

C OMETIMES our soul within us burns 

To see dark Ignorance aspire 
To move toward light a mind that yearns 
For knowledge that may lift it higher 

Upon the royal road of truth, 
While every word and act and thought 
Betrays an atmosphere so fraught 
With lack of common sense and lore, 
We plead for some almighty power 

To save from such our precious youth. 

No ray of truth can ever shine 

To beautify and make divine 

The heart and mind of anxious soul, 

When doubts and fears have full control 

Of him who knows he blindly leads. 
If human minds and souls and hearts 
May not command those who have arts 
And power to waken, lead, inspire, 
Then knowledge fails of her desire, 

And Ignorance on Wisdom feeds. 



28 Our Profession 

Let science, art, didactic skill, 
Be guided by unyielding will 
Born in some earnest, patient one 
Whose heart glows like the summer sun 

And warms all by its ardent fire ; 
Whose interest is so intense 
It readily itself imprints 
Upon the tender minds of youths, 
Precepts and scientific truths 

Such as their yearning hearts desire. 

Then there shall come a brighter day, 
When darkness shall to light give way, 
And Wisdom on her throne rejoice, 
And speak with accent in her voice 

That charms and cheers a hungry mind. 
Then, students, beauty shall receive 
Instead of ashes that deceive, 
Their days and nights of earnest toil, 
Their struggles by the midnight oil 

Give recompense complete, refined. 



And Other Poems. 29 



FACT VERSUS FORM. 

A S shadows are to material forms, 
As mists to the copious shower 
As dead calms are to tornado storms 
That in tropical region lower 
So are educational falacies 
That ignore and decry as naught 
The value and power that ever lie 
In the scope of original thought. 

No smooth device with a soulless form 

Should obscure the living thought; 

It smothers the mind, destroys the charm 

That comes to him who has wrought 

To discover new truth, by a truth well known, 

On which he may safely build, 

Till his mental strength by use has grown 

To a giant strong and skilled. 

When thought is secure, the reason clear, 
An d the language to tell is pure, 
Abridgement comes like a friend sincere, 
For it cannot the mind obscure. 
The wasted time on a form-clad task 
Steals gems from youth's precious years, 
Leaves a wreck on life's shore, we cannot mask 
With our sorrows and sighs and tears. 



30 Our Profession 

If what we have learned has given no power 

To acquire what yet we must learn, 

If all our past struggles leave not a dower 

To which we may joyously turn 

And feel that a strength within us is given 

Through efforts already bestowed, 

In vain have we lived, in vain have we striven, 

Each task is the same weary load. 

If task of to-day shall not lighten th' one 

May come upon us to-morrow, 

It is but a proof our work was ill done, 

And bodes to us grief and sorrow. 

Ev'ry effort of mind applied aright 

Augments the mental perception, 

For God aids the brave, and giveth a light 

To shine away imperfection. 

There's a magic power in a task well done, 

There's a charm in solid reason, 

There's a mighty force in a victory won, 

Which an alert mind will seize on, 

And with giant strength that is thus acquired 

March on till the fields of science 

And the zones of thought wherein man aspired 

Shall be won by self-reliance. 



And Other Poems. 31 



INTEREST. 



\ A /HO has not seen the inert mind, 

Bowed down and sore oppressed, 
Start into life, and vigor find 
At touch of interest 
Some sympathetic sonl has shown, 
By look in kindness given, 
Or word whose accent, cadence, tone, 
Gave joy akin to heaven ? 

No emanation from the heart 

Has greater power to win, 

Than that which lays aside all art 

And quietly steps in 

To soothe through sympathy, the cares 

And sorrows, one by one, 

Of timorous soul who scarcely dares 

Go forward all alone, 

But needs some word of magic power 

To give him life and zest, 

Some animating heart-given dower 

Whose wealth is interest. 

Few, few there are who know the force 

That dormant lies in many a brain, 

Who trace inertia to its source 

Or see how mind o'er mind may reign. 



32 Our Profession 



MEMORY AND REASON. 

\A/HO stores the mind with richest truth 

Gathered from sages of all lands, 
May toil through days of sunny youth, 
And on till Death gives his commands, 
But fails to call to him the aid 
Of Reason, Judgment, and Good Sense, 
Will find himself at last dismayed 
At smallness of his consequence. 

The choicest gems must polish bear, 
And metals must be purged from earth, 
Before a lustre they can wear 
That tells of their intrinsic worth. 
The brain requires friction of thought, 
Obtained through contact with the world. 
With which may skillfully be wrought 
The mental gems research unfurled. 

Who builds alone on Memory 
Will find he lacks a needed force 
To fire and set the spirit free, 
And move him onward in the course 
That tends to lead him by a way 
Whose goal is sure, complete success, 
But wanting such, can but display 
Chaotic mass of nothingness. 



And Other Poems. 33 

Let Memory and Reason wed, 
Their product then may fully know 
The food on which great minds are fed, 
The founts from which great actions now ; 
Each holds its share of honored meed, 
But each requires the other's aid 
To stimulate the urgent need 
By which great genius is displayed. 



Many a brave resolution 

Is formed on New Year's Day 

To annihilate some vices 

That on our morals prey; 

But before the year is ended 

They go so far astray 

We find our lives are pursuing 

The old, accustomed way. 



34 Ouk Profession 



THE DESIRABLE UNDEFINED. 

T have often thought there's a power 

* Unknown to science or art, 
That opens and closes the portals 
That lead to the human heart. 

I have learned there's a secret something 
That remains yet undefined, 
That touches the springs and pulleys 
That open the human mind. 

I have watched the glow of faces, 
As a light from this occult source 
Has touched some inert nature 
With an energizing force. 

The effect was so magnetic, 
It seemed like creative skill 
From the hand of the Great Master, 
To give passive being will. 

Sometimes its power seemed but presence, 
Sometimes, a soft, mild tone, 
Sometimes, a look of decision, 
Ofttimes, from a source unknown. 



And Other Poems. 35 

There's a something wrapped in th' nature 
Of those most adapted to teach 
That charms and holds the attention 
Of those whom its powers reach. 

There's a sound from some vibration 
Within the human voice 
That arouses the latent spirit 
And makes the soul rejoice. 

Its tone has a magic power 
Whereby the heart is impressed 
With the weight of its noble mission 
And unselfish interest. 

There's a mystic charm most winsome 
In th' glance of a speaking eye 
Whose light shines in dark recesses 
And explores them in passing by. 

It illumines the page of the student 
As his soul warms by its fire, 
And stirs him to greater action, 
And lifts aspirations higher. 

Every word and look and action 
Has weight on trustful youth, 
That needs no sage to interpret 
Or explain its vital truth. 



36 Our Profession 

They are fully comprehended 
Through the instinct, every one, 
And need no labored searching 
In a massive lexicon. 

Some call this power attraction, 
Some term it affinity, 
But all recognize its existence 
And wonderful potency. 

There's also a power of repulsion 
That breathes with abated breath, 
Whose presence is best betokened 
By ominous signs of death. 

No word has an inspiration, 
No look has a sign of cheer, 
Each act reveals that a burden 
Must be borne in sorrow and fear. 

The wrecks that are made by its presence. 
Have filled almshouses and jails 
With the deepest of lamentations, 
The saddest of human wails. 

A selfish, terrible monster 
That drives away honor and truth 
Is the cold-blooded fiend Kepulsion, 
The destroyer of tender youth. 



And Otheb Poems. 37 

The sea in its frenzy and fury, 
When lashed by the wintry gales 
Casts on the rocks its vessels 
Bereft of their spars and sails; 

The path of the fierce tornado, 
Overstrewn with wild debris 
Of fallen habitations 
And uprooted forest tree; 

The wreck of a world of matter 
That transforms revolving spheres, 
Which have gathered all their greatness 
Through the lapse of a million years; 

The snow-clad mountain terror — 
The fearful avalanche — 
Whose thunders are heard in valleys 
Where imploring faces blanch; 

The mouth of a raging Etna 
With its stifling breath of fire, 
Wherein the pride of a city 
In a moment may expire ; 

The trembling of the mountains 
When an earthquake passes by, 
And the terror of the people 
Struck dumb in their agony ; 



38 Our Profession 

The rage of a foaming torrent, 
After the bursting cloud 
Has poured its liquid fury 
In destruction wild and loud; 

Are but the potent protests 
Of Nature's elements 
Against some ill arrangement 
That brings them discontents. 

But these in separate actions, 
Or in forces all combined, 
Leave not so sad a ruin 
As the wreck of one human mind. 

The voice, the eye, and the manner 
Are all unlocked by a key 
That has for its great attraction 
A confiding sympathy. 

The knowledge of books is essential 
To those who youth would guide, 
But the grace of earnest endeavor 
Excels all else beside. 

Truth in its plainness is beauty, 
Science itself is a charm, 
But the frown of a tyrant tutor 
Puts both in constant alarm. 



And Other Poems. 39 



To receive a healthful impression, 
Mind must be free from fear, 
Will must be held by attraction, 
Soul, by a soul sincere. 



MIKBOKS. 

COME persons in mind are but mirrors 
Keflecting what others have thought, 
That make no original errors, 
They are only able to quote. 
You may ask their opinion on matters 
That pertain to affairs of the day, 
Their minds are but shreds and tatters 
Of what all their neighbors say. 

We respect the man who is careful 
With others his mind to compare, 
But who of himself is not fearful 
His honest opinion to share 
With men, when some public measure 
Upon the State has been thrown, — 
Who proves his mind a rich treasure 
He uses and calls his own. 



40 Our Profession 



MANY. 



JYA ANY a grand ambition 

Had birth and died in a day, 
From lack of vigorous nursing 
To keep it from decay. 

Many a hope lias faded 
And sunk in deepest despair, 
Through lack of careful pruning 
That fruitage it might bear. 

Manj r a mind is ruined 
And becomes chaotic mass, 
Through want of systematic 
Training in the class. 

Many a song of sweetness 
Has lost its harmony, 
Because at its beginning- 
It had not the proper key. 

Many a field most fertile 
Bears vile and noxious weeds, 
Through failure of the tiller 
To sow some worthy seeds. 



And Other Poems. 41 

Many a flower of beauty 
And sweetness blooms unseen, 
And dies in its seclusion 
On a bed of mossy green. 

Better to have no talent, 
No excellence to give, 
Than permit vice to destroy 
The talent we may have. 



No dam can restrain the water 
When leaks receive no care, 
When the tempest in wild fury 
Doth chafe and gnaw and tear, 
And no hand is raised to succor, 
No effort to repair, 
Till the torrent bursts in fury 
And fills us with despair. 
'Tis too late then for repining, 
Too late, for work or prayer. 



42 Our Profession 



DUTY DONE. 

A duty done is victory won, 

E'en though in the doing, 
Efforts may fail to bring avail 
In lines we are pursuing. 

Nothing is lost whate'er the cost, 

When efforts made are noble, 
Beyond the sky acts never die, 

And honor's crown is double. 

Right cannot fail, but must prevail, 

If noble be the motive; 
Heaven is nigher if we aspire 

With hearts sincere and votive. 

Much strength we gain when we maintain 
A truth for truth's sake solely; 

A mighty power guides effort's hour 
And stamps its cause as holy. 

If honest heart act well its part, 

And ask the aid of heaven 
Its feeblest word will be so heard 

That succor will be given. 



And Other Poems. 43 

It matters not how low our lot 

We rise by honest trial; 
No effort made for needed aid 

E'er met complete denial. 

The soul expands when it demands 

A right for self and others, 
And darkest night has ray of light 

For honest helpful brothers. 

A noble soul spurns the control 

"Would bind in servile fetters; 
No chains can bind God-given mind 

Inspired by love and letters. 

An earnest will can ne'er be still 

Though oft its hopes be baffled, 
It will succeed though victims bleed 

And die upon the scaffold. 

Loud shout and sing, "Crown Effort King," 

And let the watchword be 
This earnest prayer heard everywhere, 

" Grod and Humanity. " 

A duty done is victory won, 

For strength comes by the doing; 
There's no retreat, there's no defeat, 

If right we are pursuing. 



44 Our Profession 



THE SENSES. 



THE EYE. 



OOME eyes are trained to scan large field 
Till instantaneous glance may yield 

A knowledge full and plenty; 
While others keep a narrow ken 
And view the ways of active men 

With satisfaction scanty. 



The optic nerve has power so keen, 
That ev'ry object by it seen 

Is stanrped upon the brain; 
But they of sluggish mental mold 
No vivid photograph will hold, 

And scarce a scene retain. 

THE EAR. 

The tympanum with perfect drum 
Hears not the sound when armies come 

With clarion notes and song, 
Unless its stimulated nerve 
Has fully learned to humbly serve 

In stations which belong 



And Other Poems. 45 

To those which God designed should live 
For special duties, He might give 

To move mankind along 
Upon the road toward perfect man, 
That He might thus reveal His plan, 

And happiness prolong. 

THE TONGUE. 

The power that lies in perfect speech 
Dwells with the few who only reach 

That art through toil and care; 
A faulty tongue perverts the ear, 
Destroys the sense, augments the fear, 

And feeds on empty air. 

A nation's destinies have hung 
Upon the influence of a tongue 

Whose magic eloquence 
Has swayed the thoughts of men, whose word 
Was mightier than the glittering sword 

Of armies most immense. 

THE HAND. 

The manual touch when guided by 
The magic power of sympathy 

That animates the soul, 
May lead to fields of cultured art 
And cast an influence on the heart 

May through all ages roll. 



46 Our Profession 

The canvass and the stone may speak 
To more than Koman and to Greek 

Though in a foreign land; 
They show the might of cultured skill 
Directed by an iron will 

That guides a master's hand. 

THE NOSE. 

The perfumed fields of blooming May, 
The evening scent of new-mown hay 

Touch nerve olfactory, 
And carry to the thoughtful brain 
Loved memories of a long-past train 

That once was full of glee. 

Though flowers to-day are choice and rare, 
In colors they may well compare 

With richest hues we meet; 
They lack the charm that gave them power 
Since past is youth's entrancing hour 

Their fragrance seems less sweet. 

COMBINED INFLUENCE. 

Five roads lead to the human brain 
And through these roads all must obtain 

The commerce of all lore; 
No thought can enter mental port 
Of any kind or any sort, 

Of modern days or yore, 



And Other Poems. 47 

Except such as a tariff pays 

To pass these honored, great highways 

Which lead to eminence, 
And follow closely every nerve 
Which God designed should truly serve 

Each mind of consequence. 



Perhaps that star in yonder sky, 
May be my dwelling place on high*, 
When life on earth is done; 
At eventide I love to gaze 
Upon its soft reflected rays, 
When silent and alone. 

Its brightness charms and draws my soul, 

By some mysterious, strong control 

I cannot well explain, 

"Unless it be within it dwell 

The friends of earth I loved so well, 

W T ho could not here remain. 



48 Our Profession 



SOUL SPEAKS TO SOUL. 

O OUL speaks to soul, eye speaks to eye, 

And mind by mind is read; 
The heart bounds in sweet ecstasy 
Whene'er a light is shed, 
That shines to illume a cherished thought 
That seemed to dwell alone, 
But on through years has nobly sought 
To solve some truth unknown. 

The living truth that seemeth dead, 

Needs but a kindred touch 

To resurrect thought's vital thread, 

And give it influence, such 

As breaks the bands of fettered mind. 

And sunders thraldom's chains, 

Spreads benefactions, pure, refined, 

Where ignorance now reigns. 

Magnetic touch of spark divine, 

Speak to the inert soul, 

Let light from out the darkness shine, 

And truth her page unroll; 

Speak to the minds that waiting, starve. 

And give them power to see, 

That he who patiently will serve 

Shall win the victory. 



And Other Poems. 49 



OUR BATTLEFIELD. 

[Written for an entertainment given by the Fife and Drum 
Corps (36 uniformed members) of the Third Ward Grammar 
School of Long Island City, of which the writer is Principal.] 

^THERE are fields of martial glory 

Where the slain are ne'er bemoaned; 
There are victories though silent, 

Where grim monarchs are dethroned; 
There are scenes of strife and foray 

Where gigantic forces strive 
For the mastery and triumph 

Of the ends for which they live. 

There are forces more puissant 

Than ten million armed men, 
There are banners that are emblems 

Of the mighty tongue and pen, 
That reflect upon their blazon 

Honest purpose grand and true, 
Such as never graced the victors 

Of Sedan and Waterloo. 



50 Our Profession 

There are weapons in these contests 

Keener than the Damask blade, 
There are metals of such temper 

As no crucible e'er made; 
For the dross must be extracted 

In the furnace of the soul 
Till no refuse or pollution 

Shall defile the perfect whole. 

Though this army counts its millions, 

Each must face alone the foe, 
Each must bring a special weapon, 

Each must strike himself the blow 
That shall free him from the shackles 

Of that despot and his train, 
"Who with ignorance and vices 

Would destroy the heart and brain. 

Our true sword is Education 

And grim Ignorance our foe ; 
We are battling with our passions, 

And our spirits are aglow 
With a full determination 

To accept the proven truth 
That the days of precious seed-time, 

Are the sunny days of youth. 

Day by day the contest rages 
And each task that's daily done, 

Brings a soothing satisfaction 
That another victory's won. 



And Other Poems. 51 

Thus the strength we gain in action 

Aids in each succeeding strife, 
To make the struggles lighter 

In the battles of our life. 

There are avenues and byways 

"Which lead into the heart, 
Whose intricate environments 

Require the highest art 
To tell what inspiration 

Shall touch a dormant mind, 
And fire it with a living zeal 

For a station more refined. 

It is only voice of music 

That speaks universal tongue; 
It matters not in what accent 

A sweet melody is sung, 
It will find responsive feelings 

Which will aptly understand 
Though it be of unknown measure 

And sung in a foreign land. 

We come with our martial music, 

With our noisy fife and drum 
To inspire the weak and weary, 

To open the mouths of the dumb, 
To train our every emotion 

For a better sphere in life, 
To enjoy for the passing moment 

The sound of the drum and fife. 



52 Our Profession 

We hope our notes may be peaceful 

And free from carnage of war; 
We would bind up the broken hearted 

And cover the wound and scar, 
But should foe our country menace 

And refuse to be just and calm, 
We would sound aloud the tocsin 

And march to defend Uncle Sam. 



To plant an intellectual seed 

And guard its growth from noxious weed, 

That it may fruitage bear, 

Is solace more, a thousand fold, 

Than hoarding bonds and stocks and gold, 

Or sporting jewels rare. 



And Other Poems. 53 



GOOD HABITS. 

A silent force marks out the course 
^^ Of every man and woman, 
No matter what may be the lot 
Of creatures that are human, 

The end attained is ever gained 
By means so strange and hidden, 
We call it luck, instead of pluck, 
Or fate by fairies bidden. 

The human eye cannot descry 
All workings of the brain; 
At silent night, it gains a might 
Which bears a mental train 

Whose lucid glow may thrones o'erthrow, 
Or bid new nations rise, 
May prove some plan whereby proud man 
May ransack earth and skies. 

Think not such power a fairy's dower, 
Or influence from some star, 
It did not spring from anything 
Beyond what mortals are. 



54 Our Profession 

To man is given the keys of heaven 
If they be rightly used; 
No being born but must be shorn 
If blessings are abused. 

Keep well the trust! Guard it we must, 
From in and outward foes, 
Strength will be gained, might be attained 
By efforts to oppose 

The secret vice that doth entice 
To ruin and despair; 
But he who will hath power to kill 
Such vice within its lair. 

Let habits grand the life command 
And Eden is regained; 
No future bliss need surpass this 
If habits are unstained. 

Let smiling face your presence grace 
And earth will smile on you, 
Let from the tongue a song be sung. 
Its echo will be true, 

And sing again the same refrain 
Upon the selfsame key, 
Till airs elate, reverberate, 
Heaven's sweetest minstrelsy. 



And Oteer Poems. 55 

If we extend a hand to friend 
Who needs a brother's care, 
Though it may hold no purse of gold 
The act he will revere. 

Scarce do we know whence conies the glow 
That duty done e'er gives, 
Its altar-fire cannot expire — 
Here and hereafter lives. 

Such habits then, for gods and men, 
Are but the means whereby 
They may prepare to gain their share 
To mansions in the sky. 

Sing then a song, its notes prolong, 
In praise of Habit's power; 
Let custom be from evil free 
And it will blessings shower. 



56 Our Profession 



EVIL HABITS. 

L_F OW habit grows no one e'er knows, 

And yet lie is a giant 
That has a will and subtle skill 
That never yet was pliant. 

'Tis very plain that he has slain 
More than the sword and spear, 
With wily art he charms the heart 
And quells the greatest fear. 

His artful eye is wondrous sly 
And has bewitching glance, 
"Where'er he moves his victim loves 
To see his powers advance. 

He makes no noise 'mong girls and boys 
Whom he would call his own, 
His spell is cast, he holds them fast 
Till they are overthrown. 

When this is done the field is won, 
And they are all his own, 
He heeds no cry, no choking sigh, 
No plea, no prayer, no groan. 



And Other Poems. 57 

If you would be forever free 

From tyrant so severe, 

Watch every thought before you're caught, 

For he is hovering near. 

Your every word guard with the sword 
Of truth, which never fails, 
Its honor's sung in every tongue, 
Its power e'er prevails. 

Act well your part, and keep your heart 
Free from the tares he sows, 
For at the end like traitor friend 
He leaves you with your woes. 

Thus Habit mars with wounds and scars 
The favored of our race, 
Transforms the mind that God designed 
Should be the dwelling place 

Of noble thought with heaven fraught 
Into a sterile plain, 

Whose atmosphere is dank and drear — 
A wild chaotic brain. 

Man scarce may be entirely free 
From wiles and tricks and snares, 
Whose stealthy forms and subtle charms 
Approach us unawares. 



58 Our Profession 

Our eyes are blind or not inclined 
To see that powerful hand, 
That silently, yet forcibly 
Gives us its strong command. 



LIFE'S EMEKGENCIES. 

I_J OW strangely dark are the vapors 

That sometimes obscure the way, 
Ere the light of truth advances 
To the noon of a perfect day. 

As the unforeseen approaches 

In stealth from ambushed retreat, 

The mettle of soul is summoned 
Its emergencies to meet. 

To shrink by its sudden coming, 

To surrender our control 
Without a struggle for vantage, 

Betrays a weakness of soul. 

The conflicts with emergencies 

"We meet in our daily call, 
Give strength or death to moral worth 

As we conquer them or fall. 



And Other Poems. 59 

To meet at once with valor true 

The attack from an ambuscade, 
In moral strife, or bloody war, 

Hath many a hero made. 

Who has not trained himself to meet 

The vicissitudes that arise 
Upon the course of life's stern race, 

Must fail to secure its prize. 



To hold a pessimistic view, 

And see the world as darkly "blue," 

And feel mankind is false, untrue, 

Is not a just conclusion; 
But Truth demands that Hope shall wear 
No false rose in her silken hair, 
To hide Deceit, Fraud, and Despair, 

That feed on wild Delusion. 



60 Our Profession 



STKAND DESPAIR. 



PHE wrecks that lie on Strand Despair, 
Should serve as buoys on life's stern seas 
To guide the voyager safely, where 
He may escape the tides and breeze 
That drive to whirlpools, bars, and rocks, 
Where human vessels oft impinge 
And leave a ruin that but mocks 
The pleadings of persuasion's hinge. 

An idle mind, companions base, 

A shrinking from a duty known, 

A sly deceit, a brazen face, 

A lying tongue, a sullen tone, 

Lead toward a wreck on Strand Despair, 

And none but self can move the helm 

To change the course for scenes more fair, 

To save from storms that overwhelm. 



And Other Poems. 61 



INDULGENCE. 

A N alarm is sounding through the land 
That tells of a stronger foe 
Than that which marched on Lexington, 
To strike a fatal blow 
At the liberties our sires did claim 
For themselves and all mankind, 
For this foe is a product of deceit 
And sophistry combined. 

Its victims fall by the smiling ways 

Of a charmed environment 

That lures him on to neglect and sin, 

And to final banishment 

Of the vital spark of an earnest man, 

And all that is noble and true, 

To the effete round of nothingness 

Which honor and strength will subdue. 

No Spartan Helen of beauty and fame, 

No mermaid with winsome face, 

No Siren that sings an alluring song, 

No Pandora in her grace, 

Can soothe and charm to destruction's retreat, 

Like the foe that robs of power 

To meet the needs of life's true aim, 

The requirements of each hour. 



62 Our Profession 

It has filled our courts, our prisons, our jails, 

And filled our almshouses, too, 

Itself and distress walk hand in hand, 

No crimes but its victims will do; 

Though it seems like a tru« and trusty friend 

'Tis a tyrant in disguise, 

It leads to distrust and uncertainty, 

It wins no enduring prize. 

In homes it leads to disorder wild, 

In school, to defiance of laws, 

In nations, to strife on bloody fields, 

In man, to destruction's jaws; 

In business its office is but to destroy, 

In friendship, brings lack of respect, 

In love, oft a maddened, frienzied heart 

That can never endure neglect. 

Parents, true kindness holds steady hand, 
Judges, know justice is kind, 
Teachers, remember the work for you 
Is to strengthen heart and mind. 
Kindness, dethroned by lack of control, 
Ruins our girls and our boys, 
Firmness is noble, honest, and true, 
Indulgence only destroys. 



Ajto Other Poems. 63 



THE TEACHERS SOLILOQUY. 

A ND so another week has gone, 
And I once more am left alone 
Within my silent room; 
My mind is worn by fervent care, 
And, languishing, it needs repair 
For duties yet to come. 

From all the cares which come on me 
I cannot be entirely free 

Thro' all this mortal life; 
But cares imported from abroad 
Make much more ponderous the load, 

And cause more bitter strife. 

With patient labor, day by day, 
I work along this toilsome way 

Intent on doing good; 
My pupils' hearts I would inspire 
With noble thoughts and strong desire 

For intellectual food. 



64 Our Profession 

I note the various schemes and arts, 
As prompted by the different hearts, 

They lead to different deeds. 
As deeds and hearts will correspond, 
By observation it is found 

There should be different meeds. 



The wish made known for some will do, 
And some a gentle frown would rue 

And feel extremely sad; 
While others need a sterner look, 
A reprimand, or sharp rebuke, 

And sometimes e'en the rod. 

Most gladly would I hail the day 
When children cheerfully obey, 

(If e'er that day shall come,) 
But ere that happy day I see, 
A reformation there must be 

In government at home. 

And what is my reward for all 
This watchful care and earnest toil 

To train the youthful mind ? 
From Ignorance it draws a curse — 
Though pocket hold a puny purse — 

Yet one reward I find — 



And Other Poems. 65 

To see the young prepared for life 
And launched upon the outward strife 

Of its tempestuous sea, 
And know that I have trained that mind, 
With noble thought that heart refined, 

Is rich reward for me. 

When all life's lessons have been taught, 
And my own soul with love is fraught 

For earnest, striving man, 
Perhaps an understanding Lord 
Will proffer as a great reward, 

Redemption through His plan. 



A beautiful vision I sometimes see, 

That stands in the distance and smiles upon me; 

It points with a finger of radiance bright, 

To the fleeting shades of departing night. 

I would gladly know if this scene designed 

To be a true type of the human mind, 

When the mists and clouds of dark ignorance, 

Shall into the realms of the unknown advance. 



66 Our Profession 



SUKYIYAL OF THE FITTEST. 

"THE survival of the fittest, 

The advancement of the best, 
The enthronement of the truest 

In the world's great crucial test, 
Is emblazoned on each banner 

Wherever man is found, 
And e'en 'mong plants and animals 
This holds, the world around. 

Then prepare for the survival, 

Allow no base retreat, 
(Dethronement means delinquency,) 

Endure the cold and heat; 
The elements that meet us 

May all be overcome, 
With God and right ever in sight, 

The victory may be won. 



And Other Poems. 67 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

f HAVE scanned the roll of teachers, 

Have noted the Aarons and Hurs 
Who have stayed education's Moses, 
And removed the cumbrous bars 
That environed its anxious spirit, 
And bowed down its life with cares. 

I have counted them all over, 
Have analyzed heart and brain, 
Have watched them in daily labor 
That I might some key obtain 
To unlock the magical power, 
By which some supremely reign. 

I have listened with ear enraptured, 
Have caught the gleam of the eye, 
Have felt the glow of emotion 
When bright corruscations fly 
From mental touch and fervor, 
That prompted others to try. 



68 Our Profession 

The soul knows no fire so warming, 

No light so fervent and true, 

As the glow of the living presence 

Of one of the noble few 

Who counts her pain but pleasure, 

If good she may only do. 

A teacher who knows her subjects 
And has much of didactic art, 
Will present the truths of science 
To the youthful mind and heart, 
In ways so apt and skillful 
They will never more depart, 

But will gather strength and beauty 

With every day and hour, 

Until they become a fortress — 

An irresistible power 

To dispel the gloom of doubting 

That oft o'er the mind may lower. 

No truth is learned by mere telling, 
The mind must conceive and apply; 
There is inspiration, knowledge, 
In one's own discovery 
That lead to efforts and struggles 
For a greater mastery. 



And Other Poems. 69 

Herein lies the power of teaching: 

A systeinized method to do 

That reaches the understanding, 

And leads on to fields anew, 

Where Thought shall be the head master, 

And Truth shall Error subdue; 

A heart that is wholly given 
To leading the youthful mind, 
To discover the powers and virtues 
They within themselves shall find, 
And mould them into actions 
Progressive, strong, refined; 

A spirit that sees in the being 
A gift from God unto man, 
That must live on thro' all ages, 
Though influenced by some plan 
That here has been determined, 
But God shall hereafter scan; 

A tongue that is but the voicing 
Of a heart aflame with its cause, 
That speaks of science and morals 
From a knowledge of their laws; 
That speeds the true and worthy, 
But bids all deception pause; 



70 Our Profession 

A judgment so wisely balanced 
As to know what must be done 
To avoid the indiscretions 
Into which so many run, 
Of telling, instead of leading, 
Till the victory has been won. 



In reckoning the moral stock 

Of any man or woman, 
It is but right to recollect 

That all of us are human; 
If heart be true, the body frail, 

And honestly he's striven, 
Tho' oft a brother's plans may fail, 

He ought to be forgiven. 



And Other Poems. 71 

MIND AWAKENED. 

"PHE battle is not to the mighty, 
Nor the race to the fleet of foot, 
The peak is not reached by bounding, 
Nor the goal by a devious route; 
The problems of science and culture 
Have been ages upon the way; 
The greatest vict'ries 'mong nations 
Have not been won in a day. 
'Tis the steady tramping onward 
Of feet that will not turn aside 
From the path they are pursuing, 
That wins at the eventide. 
'Tis the firm determination 
Of a strong and unyielding will, 
Moved on by gigantic action 
Of forces that cannot be still, 
That has won the greatest honors 
'Mong nations whose moral power 
Have lighted liberty's beacon 
In despondency's darkest hour. 
The mind that is sometimes darkest 
When it struggles for light and power, 
Breaks off the bands of thraldom 
And itself like some strong tower, 
Becomes the bulwark of nations 
In defense of some sacred cause 
That looks toward the world's advancement, 
Through reign of beneficent laws. 



72 Our Profession 



THE OGEE. 

T^HERE'S an ogre abroad, boys, 

There's an ogre abroad, 
A three-handed monster 

That makes his abode 
In hamlet and city, 

In country and town, 
And revels in death 

As he drags people down. 
He's a sly old destroyer, 

Very loth to admit 
That the snares he is using 

Are fraud and deceit. 
He has slain and devoured 

More than the sword; 
By all earnest people 

He is greatly abhorred, 
For he leads to disease, 

To sorrow and death, 
As poison exhales 

From his presence and breath. 
He fastens himself 

On bright, innocent youth, 
And slyly allures him 

From virtue and truth. 



And Other Poems. 73 

He holds by the throat 

The servants who wait 
To hear his excuses; 

And sad is their fate, 
For insidious smile 

Is his only excuse 
To victims who suffer 

Defeat and abuse. 
So sly are his movements, 

So stealthy his tread, 
Like a vampire, on blood 

He is frequently fed, 
While his victim, unconscious, 

Makes no defence; 
He steals mind and honor 

And good common sense. 
If you meet him, my boy, 

Beware of his grasp, 
For his smiles are so sweet; 

But on you he will clasp 
The shackles he carries 

Forever concealed, 
And when he secures you 

He seldom will yield. 
He will keep you away 

From duty and right, 
Destroy all your honor, 

Your hopes sadly blight, 
With promises made 

Which he cannot fulfill 



74 Our Profession 

He robs of contentment 

And shackles the will. 
This monster has always 

A right hand and left hand 
That have powers of their own 

That onght to command. 
If he had only these 

And used them aright, 
His presence would ever 

Afford us delight; 
But the third hand he has 

Is a very unkind hand, 
For this ogre's real name 

Is Little Behind Hand. 
Little Behind Hand 

Is tyrant indeed, 
From which we would have 

Mankind ever freed. 
Little Behind Hand 

Can seldom find work, 
For he stumbles in blindness 

And gropes in the dark, 
He is sullen and mean, 

Near-sighted and sour, 
Ruin and trouble 

'Bout him constantly lower. 
Drive him off ! Drive him off! 

Ere he fasten on you 
His fangs of destruction, 

The pestilent dew 



And Other Poems. 75 

That he breathes on his victim 

To deaden the sense 
Of his presence and power, 

And their sad consequence. 
Strike him down ! Strike him down ! 

With strong, sturdy blow, 
If you yield to him now 

He will soon lay you low, 
And when hand and foot 

Are at his command, 
You will feel he has grown 

To a Big Behind Hand. 



The public tide is polluted 

With offal, fraud, and deceit ; 

In ev'ry line of industry 

Its venomous forms we meet 

In men who sneer at truth and right, 

Who, Honor's path have decried, 

That they might gain the golden calf 

WTiose power they have deified. 



76 Our Profession 



MY CHOICE. 

T would rather dwell a hermit 

In some silent peaceful wood, 
Where no voice of human being 

Ever breaks the solitude; 
Where babbling brook, and minstrelsy 

Of winged friends are heard 
To join the sylvan choruses 

Of leaves when gently stirred, 
Than live in costly splendor 

With a heartless, greedy throng, 
Whose only thought is sordid pelf 

Obtained by fraud and wrong. 

I would far prefer a cavern 

On some rocky sea-girt isle, 
Where the constant intonations 

Of the waves as they recoil 
With their soughing and deep moaning: 

Eor a momentary rest, 
Tell of liquid matter only 

That bespeaks itself distressed, 
Than to live where human bodies 

Bend and writhe for freedom's air, 
Till the heart breaks in deep sorrow, 

And the soul sinks in despair. 



And Other Poems. 77 

I would choose a lone oasis 

With one tree, one flower, one spring, 
One bird of sprightly plumage 

With throat attuned to sing; 
One whisper of approval 

From a voiceless power within; 
One perfect intuition 

Of freedom from all sin, 
Than dwell 'mid throngs and plenty 

And grovel in the filth 
That oft adheres to those who claim 

The boundless stores of wealth. 

Some quiet nook in a valley 

With a canopy of leaves, 
Such as a forest Titan 

In fantastic beauty weaves; 
Or some vine-embowered tangle 

O'ershadowing murmuring stream 
Where scarce a ray of sunlight 

May on its waters gleam, 
Is a dwelling-place more restful 

To a man by right controlled 
Than the courts of kings and princes 

Ablaze with filched gold. 

I would not shun the haunts of men 

Or bustle of the world, 
Nor would I see progression's flag 

Lie dormant or unfurled; 



78 Our Profession 

If man for manhood would aspire, 

And less for gold and power, 
If noble thoughts and noble deeds 

Employ each passing hour, 
Then should the bustle be supreme^, 

For manhood thus would rise 
Above the baser things of earth 

To honors in the skies. 

I am not a misanthropist, 

Nor hater of just wealth, 
I love the presence of mankind, 

I love good-natured health, 
I love a true and noble soul 

In woman or in man, 
I love a being who would not 

Invert God's primal plan 
And keep in bondage soul and mind 7 

Through base and false desire 
To trample fellow beings down, 

That he may rise still higher. 

I know that hate deep in my soul 

Burns with an intense flame 
Toward him who scourges the oppressed,, 

And unjust power doth claim, 
That he may gain some subtle coign 

By which to overthrow 
The balance Justice ever holds 

Alike for friend or foe; 



And Other Poems. 79 

For such can never bless mankind 

By thought or word or deed; 
They laugh in glee whene'er they see 

Their victim writhe and bleed. 

When all we teach in man is mind, 

And heart has no domain, 
Then fraud, deceit, and treachery 

Will form a tyrant train, 
For beacon light can never come 

Through those who legislate 
Unless good seed has been well sown 

By those who educate ; 
But lift the soul by Sinai's laws 

And by the Golden Bule, 
Then legislation will have power 

Through truths taught in the school. 



The world is wanting honest men 
Who know and dare to do aright, 

Whose honor brightens in the ken 
Of Justice's ever-searching light. 



80 Our Profession 



THE REQUIREMENTS OF THE HOUR. 

I T is hard to tell at the dawn of day 

What the sunset shades may bring, 
The plans we make may be astray, 
And our treasured hopes take wing. 

We know not what strange environment 
May dwarf our most cherished plan, 

Or what obstructions may be sent 
To defeat our ends and aim. 

Though we scorn the thought that fickle Fate 

Has Destiny in her hand, 
We all pay tribute at her gate 

And bow low at her command. 

In spite of all the powers we boast 

Of independent action, 
An intervening hand may cost 

Our progress great detraction. 

Few, few there be who lack the power 

To shape their own destiny, 
If each will improve th' passing hour 

To its full capacity. 



And Other Poems. 81 



A BOY. 



A boy is a wonderfully curious thing, 

Of all creation he deems himself King, 
Yet give him for pastime a top and a string 

And he is instantly spinning; 
When fishes are ripe he tries them with hook, 
He thinks more of them than of a new book, 
And steals enough time to after them look, 
Not conscious that he is sinning. 

The great possibilities within his scope 
Prompts to exertion, inspires him with hope, 
Till with the world he is ready to cope 

For the greatest laurels of honor; 
Glory and fame are attractive stars 
He may seek in strife, under bloody Mars, 
Till Wisdom revolts at the ugly scars 

Ambition has placed upon her. 

Oh, active, mercurial, wonderful boy, 

The world is a top and you spin it with joy, 

Regardless of all the wiles you employ 

To gain the pleasure of seeing; 
No tree is so tall, but you reach its top limb, 
No water so deep, but in it you swim, 
No ice is so smooth, but o'er it you skim 

Like a phantom, a wonderful being. 



82 Our Profession 



ARBOR DAY POEMS. 



THE TREE OF STATE. 

[The Maple was chosen by vote of the children in the 
schools of N. Y. State as the State Tree, and the Kose as the 
State Flower. Nature's Tribute, The Kose, and The Golden 
Kod were written at the request of the State Department of 
Public Instruction of N. Y. and sent to the schools of the State 
for Arbor Day use. Nature's Tribute was set to music] 

| REE of our state and emblem of neatness, 
Beauty and grace abide in thy form; 
Not in thy blood alone courses a sweetness, 
Thy ev'ry unfolding is suavity born. 

Down in the vale where cowslips are growing, 
Where violets breathe thro' sweet scented lips, 

Where brook o'er the bright pebbly bottom is flowing, 
And bee of the nectar of columbine sips. 



And Other Poems. 83 

A monarch it stands of regnative power, 

In a graceful symmetrical pose; 
Whose arms weave a fairy, majestical bower 

Where wood-nymphs their beauty disclose. 

Its beautiful leaf of silvery sheen, 

And the grandeur it gives to the grove, 

Proclaim to th' world it of forest is queen, 
And most worthy our heart's purest love. 

Honor we maple as type of all neatness, 
Yielding protection, beauty, and grace; 

None of its rivals boast of such sweetness, 
None can in typical form fill its place. 

May th' state be as pure in motive and plan, 

As the maple from evil is free. 
May every son of the state, as a man 

Take his type from the pure maple tree. 

Then hale be the state, and hail to the tree ! 

And each halo of glory shall last 
Till from all tumult our state will be free, 

And no stain on her honor be cast. 

This tree be our care, our state's honored prize. 

May virtue and glory assemble, 
And bid every man in dignity rise 

Till the tree of our state he resemble. 



84 Our Profession 



ABBOE DAY TBXBUTE. 

\A/ITH lavish hand our God hath spread 
Beauty and fragrance o'er the land; 
His smile revives the seeming dead; 
Nature awakes at His command. 

He breathes upon the leafless tree; 

He whispers to the tiny flower. 
His touch awakes the slumbering bee, 

And each obeys th' Almighty power. 

The perfumed breeze of smiling May, 
The dancing stream on mountain side, 

The wild bird's trill of joyous lay 

Proclaim Thy goodness far and wide. 

Attune our hearts to sing Thy praise, 
Expand our souls to comprehend 

Thy attributes and all Thy ways, 
And ever be our Guide and Friend. 

We plant to-day within the mould, 
The stock that needs Thy tender care; 

Send deep its roots, its buds unfold 
In answer to our faith and prayer. 



And Other Poems. 85 



THE ROSE. 



\A/HEN dewy morn of balmy June 

Awakes and blushes in the East, 
When song birds pipe their sweetest tune 

And Nature spreads her grandest feast, 
Among the rare and fragrant plants 

Whose petals most of heaven disclose, 
In foremost rank — far in advance — 

There stands the sprightly, smiling rose. 

Its home is on the wide, wide plains, 

In valleys where wild torrents foam, 
In solitudes where silence reigns, 

And by the cotter's humble home. 
It cheers alike the rich and poor 

On Alpine heights, or by the sea, 
By castle wall or peasant's door — 

It justly claims ubiquity. 

Could blushing beauty born of heaven, 

Or world-wide worship win the prize, 
Could fragrance, fancy, fame, or even 

The rich rays of reflected skies 
Soothe sorrows sharp and scorching sting 

And give the world complete repose, 
Then men should shout and children sing- 

" The flower of State must be the Rose ! 



SQ Our Profession 



THE GOLDENROD. 



\A/HEN August sunset's yellow blaze 

Streams out o'er meadow, field and lawn, 
It seeks some shrine wherein its rays 

May linger till returning dawn, 
And touching gently with its sheen 

That graceful plumage of the sod, 
Its constellated gems of green 

Are changed to glorious Goldenrod. 

Its home is in the sterile soil 

Deserted by the rustic swain 
Because it yields not for his toil 

The recompense he would obtain. 
By wall and ledge, and rock, and mound, 

"Where'er neglect and ruin reign 
In greatest beauty there 'tis found, 

To cheer and clothe the earth again. 

Down in the soul there dwells a thought 

That finds expression not in word, 
That counts display and promise naught 

Unless a voice divine is heard, 
That speaks to cheer the desolate, 

That yields a balm distilled from God; 
"Whose type should be the flower of State — 

The sun-lit, heaven-born Goldenrod. 



And Other Poems. 87 



BUTTEKCUPS AND DAISIES. 

DUTTERCUPS and daisies — 

Bright children of the lawn — 
To the fields are nodding 

In the winds of June. 
Such beauty of the meadows 

Gives a charm so sweet, so strong, 
The robin's spirit bursts aloud 
In animated song. 

Buttercups and daisies 

Bloom adown the narrow lane, 
Beside the brook in pasture, 

And over the wide plain; 
Tangles in the meadow 

Where ten million flowers bloom, 
Draw bee and bird and squirrel, 

With their beauty and perfume. 

Buttercups and daisies 

Aglow in morning light, 
And pendant dew-drops sparkling — 

Bright diamonds of night — 
Send a matin greeting 

To the rising god of day, 
As he warms them gently 

With his golden ray. 



88 Our Profession 

Buttercups and daisies 

Are jewels to be worn 
By all sons and daughters 

Of Nature, truly born; 
They speak a perfect language, 

They lead to the divine, 
They cheer the weak and weary 

They strengthen and refine. 

Buttercups and daisies 

May softly o'er me bloom, 
When I am sweetly sleeping 

Within my restful tomb, 
And when by mortal beings 

I may forgotten be, 
The buttercups and daisies 

Shall be dear friends to me. 



Modest, meek anemone, 
Loved wind-flower of the spring, 
You fill our hearts with gladness, 
For with your smile you bring 
The vitalizing sunshine, 
The fruitful April shower, 
The pipe of feathered songster, 
And bud of sylvan bower. 



And Other Poems. 89 



THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 

T remember well, in my boyhood's romp, 

The beautiful flower that grew near the swamp, 

With its spiral screw 

Of cerulean hue, 
While on the marge of its petals grew 
A fringe, such as art never weaves. 

I plucked it with zeal, for my heart was aglow, 
Its color and form, my mother to show, 

And gladden her eyes 

With the exquisite prize 
I had found when autumnal zephyr sighs, 
'Mong the faded flowers and leaves. 

Fair emblem of maiden adorned as a bride, 
The tin tings of heaven within you abide; 

You smilingly stand 

In bridal robe grand, 
For a lover who offers an ardent hand, 
And a heart that never deceives. 

When others have left us, we cherish the one 
Who remains firm and faithful till vict'ry's won; 

Though cold be the storm, 

The heart is e'er warm 
For the tried and true, who weave such a charm 
Round the heart of him who receives. 



90 Our Profession 



THE DANDELION. 

/\A EADOWS are dotted, far and wide, 

With velvet stars that bring 
A golden off'ring of delight, — 
Flower-goslings of the spring. - 

Then gray-haired pappus, downy, soft, 

Follows with pistils loose, 
And the gosling of the early spring 

Becomes a white-fledged goose. 

Its feathers float on ev'ry breeze 
That fans the verdant mead, 

And children count the hours of day 
By breaths that waft the seed. 

Soft, silent Time that comes apace 
O'er human flowers that bloom, 

You quickly change youth to old age, 
And lead life toward the tomb. 

Bright turf-born gosling of the field, 
Teach us to smile, and give 

A perfume from a fragrant soul, 
That on and on shall live. 



And Other Poems. 91 



THE FLOWERS I LOVE. 

f sometimes think I love the rose 

More than all other flowers, 
Because its fragrance falls on me 

In copious, dainty showers; 
And blushing in its modesty, 

I press it to my heart, 
As the idol of my dalliance 

That should no more depart. 

But when I see the lily fair — 

The meadow's beauteous queen — 
Surrounded by her myriad friends 

All dressed in Nature's green, 
My heart goes out in ecstasy, 

And naught on earth to me 
Seems fairer type of loveliness, 

Than this daughter of th' lea. 

When bright snow-nake-petaled daisy, 

Whose heart of yellow gold, 
Is richer vein of pure delight 

Than miner-kings may hold, 
Sends out her invitation warm, 

To search in her domain 
For berries like a bleeding heart, 

I cannot well decline. 



92 Our Profession 

And then the graceful goldenrocl 

With flaunting, sun-lit plume, 
Whose lateness lends a special joy 

And sweetness to its bloom, 
Invites me with its wind-blown nod, 

To be its devotee, 
With honesty I must confess 

It has a charm for me. 

There's a heaven-born flower — the aster, 

That drinks nocturnal dews 
From late autumn's chilly fountains, 

And steals the sunset hues; 
It smiles from wayside tangles 

And coyly casts its eyes, 
Yet holds me by its modesty 

A voluntary prize. 

I know not which I love the most, — 

I know I love them all, — 
For God hath given each its grace, 

And each its special call; 
Each has a mission to perform, 

A purpose and an end, 
And sweet is the companionship 

Of each bright flower-friend. 



And Other Poems. 93 



TRAILING ARBUTUS. 

TNDER the brown leaves meekly abiding, 

The gem of the spring-flowers nestles away, 
In copse near th' wood, where covertly hiding, 
It catches the glow of Aurora's first ray. 

Where moss and leaf are strewn in profusion — 
A bed whereon gods might gladly repose — 

Apart from the world, in rural seclusion 
The pride of the moorland — arbutus grows. 

In mossy fields, 'mong refuse of bushes, 
With rose-tinted lips, like herald of morn, 

W r ith but a leaf to conceal secret blushes, 
Earth's first vernal offspring is sweetly born. 

Modest, retiring, and beautiful sprite, 
Emblem of graces a maiden should wear, 

Great is the pleasure, supreme the delight 
Of searching for joys such coyness doth bear. 

Ohild of the woodland in beauty abiding, 

Whose breath scents the air of early spring morns, 

Fairies of magical powers are residing 

In nooks and valleys your presence adorns. 

Oft in the springtime I wander away 

To dwell for a time in your blest retreat, 

Counting such pleasure far sweeter to me 
Than bustle of city or throng of the street. 



94 Ouk Profession 

THE MORNING GLORY. 

[On being requested to give some Morning Glory seeds.]' 

THE sunshine seems much brighter, 
And the heart is ever lighter, 
"When the rays of sweet Aurora 
Gild the radiant morning glory 
With a splendor, such as heaven 
To few favorites has given 
Among the beautiful rare flowers. 
So plant these seeds with care, 
In a place well-chosen, where 
The first rays of the morning 
May kiss their bright adorning, 
And teach your heart to see 
The beauties there may be 
In the early morning hours. 



And Other Poems. 95 



RYE. 



AA/HEN pollen-dust from fields of rye 

Floats out on the dews of even, 
And stars of June bedeck the sky 

Of mild and cloudless heaven, 
'Tis ecstasy to linger near 

The odor-laden quivers, 
Whose lance-like arrows then appear 

To be our pleasure-givers. 

When Luna bright is wreathed in smiles, 

And breathes upon the flowers, 
A billowy greenness oft beguiles 

Our minds by magic powers; 
For like the waves of ocean grand 

When tempest winds are high, 
With speed sweep by the waves on land, 

In the fields of liquid rye. 

Fragrant fields of beautiful June, 

Whose billowy, graceful green 
Is a mem'ry-gem that fades too soon 

From childhood's romantic scene, 
Sweet were my hours of ecstasy 

When by your side I was nigh ; 
Joys I covet, long lost to me 

That came from sweet fields of rye. 



96 Our Profession 



COMMUNION WITH NATXJBE. 

' *T*IS sweet to hold communion 

With Nature true and wild, 
And feel the thrill of gladness 

She breathes upon her child, 
When close upon her bosom 

We press the listening ear, 
And fancy that the minstrelsy 

Our raptured senses hear, 
Is sweeter than the chorus 

By angel choirs sung, 
Or richer than vibrations 

Of chords so deftly strung, 
That all their intonations 

Seem blended in one strain, 
By touch of fairy fingers 

Which enchant the sweet refrain. 

The beauties of the sunset 

Upon the evening sky, 
When flecked with fleeting vapors, 

Detached and awry, 
Give colors that no artist 

Save God alone can show 
To eyes that seek such blendings, 

And hearts that long to know 



And Other Poems. 97 

The hidden things in Nature 

Which ne'er can be revealed 
To those who find not heaven 

In mountain, sky, and field; 
For they who live the nearest 

To Nature's self shall find 
Joy boundless as the ocean, 

As pure and unconfined. 

Deep in the leaf} r forest 

A thousand tones are heard, — 
The laughing, dancing brooklet, 

The song of bright-winged bird, 
The buzz of bee on flower, 

The leaf by breezes fanned, 
The hum of tiny insect 

Whose feeble notes command 
The modulated heart-beat 

To know the great decree, 
That frees the mind from slavery 

And sets the spirit free, 
Through knowledge of those hidden things 

Which God only reveals 
To him who loves all nature, 

And for a brother feels. 

The dearest and the sweetest 

Of all the charms on earth, 
Are those that link our natures 

To feeling's that have birth 



98 Our Profession 

When leaf and flower and fruitage 
Steal our being for an hour, 

And we are half unconscious 
Of some mysterious power, 

That leads us close to heaven, 
And points to joys supreme, 

Where fields and flowers and happiness- 
Are not an idle dream, 

But a true and soothing heritage 
Whose limit has no end, 

Where ev'ry rock and tree and shrub 
Shall prove a trusted friend. 

If heaven is not shadowed 

Upon our spirit mind, 
Through all its gorgeous tintings 

And colorings combined; 
If Nature has no language 

To charm the ear and eye, 
And brooks and birds and forests 

Afford no minstrelsy; 
If waving grain and orchards, 

Freighted with fragrance rare, 
Draw not the spirit heavenward 

And lift the soul in prayer; 
Then orisons are soulless 

Though voiced on bended knee, 
And small must be our knowledge 

Of the Great Deity. 



And Other Poems. 99 



MOUNTAIN BKOOK. 

OENEATH the shade deep in a dell, 
Where fairy spirits ever dwell, — 

Away from haunts of men, 
A living thing of godlike birth, 
By Nature's law springs from the earth 

To gladden vale and glen. 

Ten thousand fairies clad in green 
Enliven the sequestered scene, 

With noiseless dance and mirth, 
And minstrelsy of heaven conspires 
With liquid laughs and wind-played lyres- 

To charm the scenes of earth. 

The rocks and trees bedecked with moss, 
The million leaves with shimmering gloss 

Drink from the dancing spray, 
Which rising from the dashing foam, 
Seeks its bright aerial home 

And greets the orb of day. 

No discord here my spirit jars, 
No artful smile my comfort mars, 

For Nature's self is true; 
Here beauty, grace, and peace conspire 
To make my inmost soul desire 

Some heart with kindred view. 



100 Our Profession 

Who dwells in such companionship, 
Builds fountains whence the soul may sip 

Heaven's sweetest gift to man, 
Sees beauty reign as God designed, 
Has purer love for all mankind, 

And lives near Nature's plan. 

Loved mountain brook, so pure, so true, 
I'd rather spend an hour with you, 

And harmonize my soul 
With the sweet melodies you sing, 
With all the joy your concerts bring, 

Thaftsit where flowing bowl 

And jocund laugh of merry crowd 
In accents wild, profane, and loud, 

Break on the midnight air; 
For you bring peace and joy and rest, 
Befreshment for a mind distressed, 

And banish grief and care. 

When I shall sleep my final sleep, 
Fain would I rest where you will keep 

A tuneful voice for me; 
Then to my spirit will be given 
The foretaste of a j^romised heaven — 

Nature's sweet harmony. 



And Other Poems. 101 



TO A MOUNTAIN BROOK. 

SHY sylvan spirit singing so sweetly, 
Dancing to measures that now with your song- 
Frolic your fairy feet faultlessly, fleetly, 

As down the mountain vale haste you along. 

Babbling buoyantly by banks and bushes, 
Laughingly onward you speed to the sea, 

While from your mossy sides, joyously gushes 
Fountains from Nature's bowl, healthful and free. 

Naiads and Nymphs hold revels at midnight, 
Dancing to music that swells from your flow; 

Dryad and Faun peep out at the moonligTit, 

Thro' rents in green curtains that over you grow. 

Here would I pour my soul out in wooing 
The spirit that dwells in your charmed home; 

Here would I linger gladly, if knowing 
My waiting might lead it at last to come. 

Let me while here with you catch the spirit 
Of peace and comfort abiding in you, 

Then will my Nature truly inherit 

A love for the beautiful, noble, and true. 



102 Ouk Profession 



THE STREAM'S STORY. 

I sat me down in a forest old, 

Beside a low murmuring- stream; 
I lent my ear to the tale it told, 

For 'twas more than fancy's dream; 

It spoke of days when the earth was young, 

When it flowed more cheerfully, 
When its water sang the rocks among, 

As they danced down toward the sea. 

" In the ancient days my banks were filled, 

Nor shrank I from heat or frost, 
For the shaded, moss-crowned earth then held 

The drops, so that none were lost. 

" The old forest then stretched far away, 
And its sheltering arms embraced 

Sweet perfumed plants and flowerets gay, 
Whose lives long ago have ceased. 

"For the sturdy woodman plied the blade 

And the forest soon lay low; 
Then the burning sun and the want of shade 

Soon shrank my full crystal flow. 



And Other Poems. 103 

"Now when the rain comes, my waters roar, 

And my spoils are sad to see, 
For the earth- vaults where I kept my store, 

Hold no surplus now for me. 

" Man's greed for wealth has ray beauty marred 

And robbed me of early jo}*s, 
But I sing again, with hope restored, 

When I see the girls and boys 

*' Who come with their songs in merry May, 

O'er valley, hill, and plain, 
To plant young trees on this Arbor Day, 

So in joy I smile again.". 



To wander all day, by a purling stream 

That flows through some mossy dell, 
And watch its silvery waters gleam, 

And list to its music's swell 
As it dashes down some wild cascade, 

On its race to the wide, wide sea, 
With sweeter strains than old Orpheus played, 

Is supreme delight to me. 



104 Our Profession 



THE SECOND SUNDAY IN MAY. 

O OFTLY the breezes dance o'er the meadows, 

Wafting the perfume of sweet-scented May; 
Flecked are the green fields with sunshine and shadows^ 
Telling so gently of earth's perfect day. 

From moss-covered rocks whereon we are seated, 
Nature spreads scenes such as art cannot yield; 

With flowers of rare beauty our vision is greeted, 
Our ears, with the bird-notes of forest and field. 

Dogwood with tints from pink to pure whiteness, 
Columbine crimson with pinnacled sheen, 

Pinks of carnation, and orchards in brightness, 
Vie with the meadows of velvety green. 

The bobolink chatters in notes of perfection, 
The oriole sings a love-song to his mate, 

The whippoorwill clings to his perch for protection, 
The crow laughs ha ! ha ! when the evening growsjate. 

Squirrel and humming-bird flit by like spirits, 
Jack-in-the-pulpit stands ready to preach, 

The roll of the anthem the wood-choir inherits, 
Surpasses the harmony mortals can reach. 



A:;d Other Poems. 105 

The song of the bird-note, the hum of the bee, 
The tinkling of waters, the bursting of leaves, 

The perfume of flowers, the blossoming tree, 
Are sermons from Nature the pulpit ne'er gives. 

My soul sings with these, with these has communion, 
They lift me in thought to realms pure and bright ; 

They speak of a Nature with which to have union 
Dispels all my sorrows and gives me delight. 

Every sigh of the breeze, every note of wild bird, 
Every plant that springs up from earth's fertile sod, 

Are sermons of eloquence when rightly heard, 
That soothe me and bring me nearer to God. 



NATURE'S CHILD. 

f would rather dwell with Nature 

And be her favored child, 
To love plant, tree, and creature 
That live in forest wild; 
And feel the satisfaction 
That I can understand 
The beauty and attraction 
Of motives, noble, grand, 
That fashioned for man's pleasure 
This brilliant world of ours, 
Than possess the jeweled treasure 
Of all earth's kingly powers. 



106 Our Profession 



LAKE GEORGE, N. Y. 

DEAUTIFUL, beautiful Horicon! 

Over thy waters so blue, 
Sunshine and shadow in silence flit on, 
Painting fresh scenes on the ecstatic view. 

Blue are the skies that kiss the green tops 

Of sentinel mountains grand, 
Pure are the waters descending in drops, 

Or rushing in torrents from mountain to strand. 

Like emerald crowns thy islands rise, 

And mirrored back are doubly seen 
Gray rocks of the mountains, the cloud-flecked skies, 

Gorgeous adornments, and fringes of green. 

Silent and wild are the fairy shores 

Save song of the warbling bird, 
Or the glen wherein the cataract roars, 

Or the pine tree's branch by strong breezes stirred. 

When sunset purples the dark ravine 

And throws crimson on thy breast, 
Soft- tinged are the hues that e'er lie between 

Thy shores and the peaks that rise in the west. 



And Other Poems. 107 

I see in my fancy days long past, 

I hear the brave soldier's song, 
The bugle that summoned hosts at its blast, 

Whose notes died in echoes the green shores along. 

I see in the past ten-thousand oars, 

And a thousand boats so grand, 
As they leave the marge of thy southern shores 

To meet the French foes of Montcalm's command. 

I see Abercrombie grandly brave 

With his fifteen thousand men, 
Glide swiftly, silently over the wave 

To contest from which many came not again. 

Beautiful, beautiful Horicon ! 

How changed is the scene to-day, 
The pageant of war and carnage is gone 

Thy waters now bear the light-hearted and gay. 



Who loves devoutly Nature wild, 

And sees in her a Master's hand, 
Will seldom be a wayward child 

Though foul temptations round him stand. 
Magnetic forces draw him back 

From following low and slavish ways, 
His soul revolts at the attack 

That foe of Nature — Vice, displays. 



108 Our Profession 



THE THBUSH. 

V\/HEN on mountain road I travel, 

Stained with dust and dirt and gravel, 

In cool shade I sit me down; 
Oft I see among the bushes 
Feathered friends — shy brown thrushes, 

Sweetest singers of renown. 

Smooth his coat though brown and dusty, 
His mellow voice is ever trusty 

And clear and soft and sweet; 
On the tree-top oft he's singing, 
In the woods his voice is ringing 

While hills his notes repeat. 

I have heard him in the morning 
When the sun was just adorning 

Tops of tallest forest trees, 
Pour his soul of song so tender, 
That to God he seemed to render 

Thanksgiving harmonies. 

Every feather he did quiver, 
As his song he would deliver 

In bursts so wild and grand, 
That creation's face would gladden 
As the air with music laden 

Seemed fraught with choral band. 



And Other Poems. 109 

Some notes that swelled his speckled breast 
Were like soft zephyrs from the west 

That fall on June-blown flowers; 
So full, so sweet, they lull the soul, 
And like a spirit voice control 

My reveries for hours. 

Soulful song, enwrapped in feather, 
Harbinger of pleasant weather, 

Sing softly unto me. 
Your tuneful notes at morn and even 
Are antepasts of joys in heaven 

That bring filicity. 

Attune your joyous song for me, 
And lift my soul that it may see 

The world in beauty bright; 
Sing on, sing on, until the wood 
Shall laugh aloud in merry mood, 

And sadness take her flight ! 

Sweet warbling bird in brown attire, 
Your notes of praise do me inspire 

With love for Nature wild; 
Your songs of joy so sweetly sung, 
By heart and throat divinely strung, 

Proclaim you Nature's child. 



110 Our Profession 



ROBIN REDBREAST. 

[ OW and soft and plaintive, 
Now distant and now near, 
Is the voice of Robin Redbreast, 
That in the tree I hear. 

Sometimes 'tis but a murmur, 

So gentle and so sweet, 
It sounds like a dying zephyr 

That echo doth repeat. 

And then in bursts of music 
That make the forests ring, 

Comes the swelling, happy ditty 
His birdship loves to sing. 

And the voice is so enchanting, 

So perfect and so clear, 
All earth stands still to listen, 

And the clouds bend low to hear. 

Again he tunes his liquid note 
To winds in tree-tops sighing, 

Or to the sound of waters 

That o'er the rocks are playing. 



And Other Poems. Ill 

The sprightly, sweet ventriloquist 

Deceives you as to distance, 
You sometimes think him far away 

Beyond alarm's resistance, 

And then again, you think him near 

The place you are abiding; 
He's in the same place all the time, 

In covert he is hiding, 

And telling you in measured notes 

His mate is yonder nesting, 
While in the shade of leafy tree 

Near by in song he's resting. 

Had I so sweet a voice as his 

I'd carol all day long, 
Charm with my presence all mankind, 

And cheer them with my song. 

The woods and fields should echo far 

My choicest minstrelsy, 
While earth and sky would both unite 

To join the revelry. 



112 Our Profession 



THE FARMER. 

(^F war and love some poets sing, 

And some of fame and glory, 
But few there are a tribute bring 

To him whose only story 
Is written on the sterile soil 

"With hand of honest labor, 
Whose plow and hoe bespeak a toil 

More grand than gory sabre. 

My muse will sing of such as these, 

And claim a wreath of laurel, 
To crown each sturdy Hercules 

Whose only wish to quarrel, 
Is with the forest and the field 

To make them rich and fairer, 
To make old mother earth to yield 

Her fruits and flowers e'en rarer. 

Let merchants in the busy marts 

Think farmers are mere cattle, 

But they who know the farmers' hearts 

And of his earnest battle 
With thorns and thistles scattered wide, 

Like earth's destructive Neros, 
Well know they are our country's pride- 

Our Nation's greatest heroes. 



And Other Poems. 113 

The lily-finger eel, pale-faced men 

Who live by " A Profession, " 
Need not despise the farmer, when 

He makes some slight digression 
Upon what they call etiquette ; 

For in his heart he's civil; 
Though rough his hand, his brow asweat, 

His heart is free from evil. 

He toils from early morn till night, 

Yet he is " Independent; " 
For Nature's God defends the right, 

And holds a crown resplendent 
To place upon His honored child 

Whose life is heavy laden, 
But keeps a spirit undeflled 

To enter into Eden. 



Though brown and dusty be his garb 
From wrestling with the soil, 

The farmer is God's nobleman, 
Made so, by honest toil. 



114 Our Profession 

THE OLD FAKM. 

TTHE dear old farm lias a sacred charm 
That extends to farthest bound, 
Every rock and tree is dear to me, 
And hallowed seems the ground. 

Its beautiful stream whose waters gleam 

As they dance on to the sea, 
Sings sweeter song, as it moves along, 

Than other waters to me. 

No leaves are so green, as those that screen 
The revered old farm-house doors, 

From the burning sun of torrid June 
When his fiercest rays he pours. 

Each grove and field doth a mem'ry yield 
Of dear childhood's blissful hours, 

And in accents clear, voices I hear 
That have now augmented powers. 

My father's care and my mother's prayer 
Are now ended here on earth, 

But as time rolls on, since they have gone, 
I shall understand their worth. 

There's a sacred charm in the dear old farm, 
For loved ones have trod its soil, 

And much I now see, appears to me 
As fruit of their faithful toil. 



And Other Poems. 115 



MAPLE AT MY FATHER'S DOOR. 

f^N velvet green of grassy floor, 

'Neath maple at my father's door 

My couch at eve has been; 
There gazing on the tranquil sky, 
With all its astral brilliancy, 

My spirit sang within. 

Then far away beyond the blue, 
On Fancy's wings my vision flew 

And scanned the realms of space; 
Then like a dove far from her nest, 
Returned to find a perfect rest 

Within its dwelling place. 



116 Our Profession 

OCEANUS' MIRROR, TRINITY LAKE, N. Y. 

[See Note on " Fidelity."] 

T'VE been charmed by many a picture, 
That has brought its master renown; 
I have looked on beautiful valleys 

From the mountain's lofty crown; 
I have gazed on the sky at evening, 

When the heavens were all aglow, 
But they fail to charm me so fully 

As this scene in the waters below. 

Pair Trinity lay in her beauty, 

Not a ripple was on her breast, 
Her borders of hemlocks and mosses 

With beautiful flowers were dressed; 
Clear as the air on her bosom 

Were her waters so pure and deep, 
They seemed like the magical mirror 

That Flora and Nereus keep. 

Where the rocks and trees bend over 

The marge of her western shore, 
The boat glided slowly onward 

Without the aid of the oar; 
When glancing the eye at the shadows 

Reflected from shore near at hand, 
There appeared a bright panorama, 

Most charming — exquisitely grand. 



And Other Poems. 117 

Down, down, far down in the waters, 

And touching the brink of the lake, 
Was a picture no master painter 

With pencil or brush could make ; 
Gray rocks, green trees, and bright flowers, 

Inverted and magnified, too, 
Seemed perfect in all but proportion 

And their upturned chimerical view. 

It seemed like a fairy enchantment 

Inviting to feasts down below, 
Where grottoes and caverns of beauty 

Illumine the flowers that grow 
To charm the nymphs of the water, 

And beguile all the sylvan elves 
To the table of old Oceanus, 

Where guests ever help themselves. 

Some spirit seemed calling me sweetly, 

Inviting me then to partake 
Of the fanciful pleasures reflected 

Far down in the clear, placid lake. 
O, beautiful scene of reflection ! 

So perfect, so grand, and so pure, 
In my mind that mirror enchantment 

To the end of my days must endure. 



118 -'z'jj *^p Our Profession 



MORNING FLOWERS. 

F*HE flowers all wash their faces fair 
With the dews of the smiling morn, 
Then turn to greet the god of the air 
As his light in the east is born. 

They call th' breeze from th' slumb'ring west 

And a censer place in his hand, 
Then mingle perfumes, choicest, best, 

To waft o'er the festive land. 

The flower of th' heart may lave in deeds 

That refresh the worthy poor, 
And th' soul's perfume is that which feeds 

The hungry, weak, and sore. 



There's food for thought in every leaf 

That spring unfolds to pleasure's eye; 
There's wisdom in the falling drop 

That had its birth in yonder sky. 
The breeze that fans the fevered brow, 

Or gives new vigor to frail man, 
Is but the breath of the Divine 

Sent to fulfill benignant plan. 



And Other Poems. 119 



AETIST NATUKE. 



\A/HEN Aurora springs from her couch of clouds 

And opens the gate of a perfect day, 
And her brother Sol in his daily rounds 

Advances his steeds toward Polaris' ray, 
Then the vernal bloom and the warbling bird 

That follow his track as he speeds along, 
Send their fragrance pure on the morning air, 

And fill leafy groves with ecstatic song. 

Oceanus lends invisible bowls, 

Well filled with vapors that rise from his breast, 
Eurus is summoned to waft them afar 

And scatter abroad in the distant west, 
Where Sol with his brush and an artist's touch, 

Paints on the sky all the glories of heaven, 
In colors more bright and blendings more true, 

Than ever on canvas by mortal was given. 

One sunset scene in Hesperian sky, 

When the courts of heaven are all ablaze 
With the glorious tints and pageantry 

That to mortal mind so clearly portrays 
The mighty power of omnipotent hand, 

And the tender touch of a boundless love, 
Is an omen true — infallible proof 

Of a Deity who presides above. 



120 Our Profession 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



MUSIC. 



\A/HEN musical chords are tensioned 
To sentiments they should express, 
And touched by a master artist 

Whose deft hand gives the proper stress. 
The effect is so ecstatic 

When vibrations fall on the ear, 
The soul stands in silent rapture, 

And our being expands to hear. 

At skillful touch of the master 

A creation of joy is given, 
That lends to the spirit pinions 

To waft it away toward heaven, 
While it sings to the same measure 

And becomes a part of the song, 
Enraptured by the magic power 

Which carries it gently along. 



And Other Poems. 121 

O the magic power of tension 

When a master hand has control ! 
It wins the heart's approbation 

And augments the receptive soul; 
'Tis a rapture born in heaven 

To entrance our expectant ears, 
'Tis angelic diapason 

Such as harmonized once the spheres. 

We each have an organ, tensioned 

With a thousand strings and their keys, 
All made by a Master builder 

W T ho permits us ourselves to please; 
Its wonderful combinations 

Far surpass all the works of art, 
'Tis the master-piece of creation — 

The versatile, strange, human heart. 

We have sole choice of the music 

That shall sound on the tensioned strings ; 
We may choose if sad or joyous 

Shall be the final note it sings; 
Though fate may fling fiercest chaos, 

Its Maker reserved to us powers 
That we need not ever surrender, 

For the strength to possess is ours. 



122 Our Profession 

Let my tongue sing songs of rapture 

And my heart-strings sweetly respond, 
Till the notes shall pass earth's border 

And reach the bright portals beyond; 
And when in the great hereafter 

The tension shall be much increased, 
My joys will be there augmented 

To know that earth's songs have not ceased. 



I often long for some quiet nook 

Away from the noise and strife 
Which come from the steady daily round 

That absorbs my busy life ; 
Away in some shadowy forest 

"Whose silence is supreme, 
Save the song of feathered minstrel 

And the murmur of a stream; 
Far away among the dark shadows 

That form Fauna's trysting-bowers, — 
But the time of this total seclusion 

Should ne'er exceed six hours. 



And Other Poems. 123 



KEST. 



\A/HEN wearisome task is finished 

And flesh with fatigue is oppressed, 
When muscles are tired and languid 

And sinews are sorely distressed, 
No balm can renew their vigor 

Like that boon from heaven called rest. 

"We know not its composition, 

Nor can we expound all its laws, 

We grant the effect is pleasant 
Tho' we cannot explain the cause; 

We therefore accept the blessing 
And bid curiosity pause. 

Foremost in its rank of agents 
Is a heavenly maid called Sleep, 

Who stands in unbroken silence, 
And ever her watch will keep 

O'er mortals whose labors and trials 
Seem heavy, oppressive, and deej). 

Sometimes when sorrows are deepest 

This maiden refuses relief; 
She's no balm for the broken-hearted, 

No cure for a head bowed with grief, 
No soothing touch for the anguish 

That robs like a heartless thief. 



124 Our Profession 

She flies from deep woe and sorrow 
And recedes from the blinding tear; 

Yet hastes to fatigue and trials 
And offers to them smiles of cheer 

Such as turn to joy and gladness, 
Murky doubt and foreboding fear. 

When death shall release the spirit 
From its prison-house of vile clay, 

It will speed to an elysian 
Of a cloudless, unending day, 

Where with others of its kindred, 
It will find a rest for aye. 



A pleasant pastime is iny pen 

Well filled with murky ink, 
When in my solitary den 

I sit for hours to think, 
And trace my thoughts in liquid flow 

Upon some virgin page, 
That in the future it may show 

What thoughts my mind engage. 



And Other Poems. 125 



SUCCESS. 

O XJCCESS knows no diminution, 
^ For failure hovers so near, 
That with trace of slight dilution, 
Success must cease to appear. 

We look in vain for a substitute 
To take the place of success; 

A proxy saps its vital cords, 
It dies of paralysis. 

Nothing can take the place of success, 
Its measure must be complete, 

If slightest imperfection is found 
It suffers a deadly defeat. 

The marge that divides sturdy success 
From failure grim and gaunt, 

Is invisible space, but separates 
Abundance from woe and want. 

Like pack of wolves on army's trail, 
Fell failure lives on distress, 

Devouring with greed th' foul refuse 
That falls from th' hands of success. 



126 Our Profession* 

Success and failure closely abide — 

Success has a palace line, 
While failure dwells in a dreary hut 7 

Like a herding place for swine. 

Success may not always achieve 

The object it has in view, 
But lives while its motives and acts 

Are earnest, noble, and true. 

True failure can only be found 
In a being devoid of heart, 

Whose efforts and deeds are all dead. 
Or act but a sluggard's part. 

Success has a heart that can ? sing, 
A hand and a spirit to try, 

A word that is fraught with good cheer, 
A soul that illumines the eye. 

Failure is cheerless, sullen, and glum, 
His hand hanging idly by, 

His voice is an echo of woe, 
His face distorted, awry. 



And Other Poems. 127 



FKAGMENTS. 

T^HIS world was made of fragments 
Each separate from the other, 
Yet in such close relation 
As to indicate a brother. 

Each atom of the universe 

Has in itself attraction, 
That finds response so much allied 

To voluntary action, 

That one might quickly recognize 
A power, supreme, benign, 

That emanates from master hand 
With forces so divine, 

That every touch which nature gives 

To matter or to mind, 
Must indicate creative power 

Superior to mankind. 

What scientist can ever tell 
The mainspring of all action, 

If all his reasons fail so prove 
Molecular attraction ? 

It has its source from out the space, 
Beyond the astral heaven; 

It had a purpose to perform, 
Or it had not been given. 



128 Our Profession 

We may not know its secret laws 
Or understand its source, 

But faith has taught us to be wise 
And recognize its force. 

Of all the teeming millions now 
Upon this mundane sphere, 

Not one can give a reason 
For his living presence here. 

Tis strange, and yet we know 'tis true, 
We constantly are dying, 

All things are old, nothing is new, 
And life with death is vying. 

We know not when this all will cease, 

We cannot understand 
Why matter never may increase, 

Or seas become dry land. 

Enough we know to serve the end 
For which we were designed, 

God never yet was known to send 
The blind to lead the blind. 

If we but act an honest part, 
And use the powers given, 
When from this earth we shall depart, 
We may be wise in heaven. 



And Other Poems. 129 



A BEACON LIGHT. 

A DOWN the vistas of the past 

I cast my memory's eye, 
And see bright scenes receding fast,- 

Some hopes in ruins lie; 
Yet still there shines a beacon light 

Whose ray on me descends, 
And shows in its eifulgeney 
A circle of true friends. 



i t>- 



The magic charm this circle yields 

Is richer far to me, 
Than cattle in a thousand fields 

Or gems from the deep sea; 
It whispers softly in my ears 

And cheers me on my way, 
Gives faith for doubt and murky U 

And comfort for dismay. 



130 Ouk Pkofession 



MEMORY. 



P ARTHLY scenes are worth preserving, 

Bitter though they sometimes be; 
Who would wish to sink in Lethe 

All the fruits of Memory ? 
None could dare offend his Maker 

By a wish so rash and vain; 
For by this kind boon from Heaven 

Life is all lived o'er again. 



"&" 



In the silent hour of twilight, 

Thoughts of by-gone days will come, 
Stealing o'er our better feelings, 

Bringing back our early home; 
All the soothing words of friendship 

Spoken by a tongue now still, 
Touch the fountains near our heart-strings, 

And our eyes with moisture fill. 

Tender, oh, how sweetly tender, 

Are the musings of an hour, 
When the mellowing scenes around us 

Give to Memory magic power; 
Thought recalls those scenes long parted, 

Life epitomized appears, 
Moments then reflect a lifetime 

Reaching back through many years. 



And Other Poems. 131 

Oh, how blessed are those moments ! 

Present scenes can never fire 
Such a rapture in our bosom 

As fond Memory can inspire; 
Naught on earth can e'er be spoken 

To attract the living ear, 
Like the words of the departed 

Uttered when among us here. 

Time and Death have made them sacred, 

Memory calls them oft to mind, 
And her choicest, dearest treasures, 

She for them has oft entwined; 
This is but a simple homage, 

Richly paying him who kneels; 
He who's prompted by such feelings, 

For his fellow being feels. 

Dark must be that soul enshrouded, 

Which Oblivion would prefer 
To the soothing power of Memory 

And the influence shed by her : 
Life itself is not worth having 

If deprived of such a bliss, 
Earth has not another treasure 

That we may compare with this. 



132 Our Profession 



DISCONTENT. 

[ ET quiet people talk of peace — 

Contentment of the mind, 
But he who lives at perfect ease 
Can never bless mankind. 

If each no higher end should seek 
Than that which now he fills, 

But be content, subdued, and meek, 
'Twould bring a thousand ills. 

Advancement then would have an end, 
Progression then would cease, 

Invention have no earnest friend, 
And science no increase. 

But Discontent, though called a fiend, 

Is progress in disguise, 
'Tis this by which our end's attained, 

'Tis this by which we rise. 

The pupil may surpass the sage 

If such his aim shall be, 
May fathom truths for many an age 

Were wrapped mystery. 



' And Other Poems. 133 

The genius may invent some plan 

To ease the laborer's toil, 
Or add facility for man 

To cultivate the soil. 

Contentment never did aspire 

To elevate mankind, 
It never raised the standard higher 

Of science or of mind. 

'Tis Discontent that gains the prize 

In every useful art; 
Although it brings us tearful eyes 

And restlessness of heart; 

But then it has a sweet reward — 

Progression is the fruit, 
But some this sweetness have abhorred 

For others have the boot. 

For he who blesses most mankind, 

Himself is seldom blessed, 
And he whose deeds should be enshrined 

Will seldom be caressed. 

Yet, let our banner ne'er be furled, 

Our lives in quiet spent; 
For 'tis a truth that all the world 

Still thrives on Discontent. 



134 Our Profession 



OUR POLITICS. 

' The purification of politics is an iridescent dream." 

U. S. Senator, John J. Ingalls, Kansas. 

"Purification of politics 

Is an iridescent dream," 
Is the Ingalls way of saying that 
Corruption's power's supreme. 

Have the people lost their honesty, 

Has the Nation sunk so low, 
That partisan strife can blind our eyes 

Till we know not friend from foe ? 

If such be true, this fair land of ours 

Must fail to mature the Hope 
That blossomed fair on Liberty's tree, 

But in impotence must grope. 

Beautiful land ! God's own favored land ! 

Thy sons must united be, 
Statesmen should now hold the public helm, 

Throw factions into the sea, 

Teach politicians with all their schemes, 

The people yet are supreme; 
That Augean stables — politics — 

May be cleansed by ballot's streams. 



And Other Poems. 135 



SUNSET. 

C OFTLY the tints of expiring day 

Tinge th' vaults of Hesperian heaven, 
Leaving a trace of the sun's mellow ray 
To escort the shadows of even. 

All of the gates of Phoebus are drawn, 
Yet his splendor has left to sight 

A trail of enchantment to linger till dawn, 
To charm the still hours of the night. 

Scenes of such cloud-land often reveal 
A grandeur that augments the soul; 

Heaven has no beauties it seeks to conceal, 
No secrets incribed on its scroll. 

Through the earth for an age we may roam, 
And through space our vision may fly, 

Yet no pleasure is like that at home 
When we gaze on a God-painted sky. 

When we think of the forces displayed 
To prepare for a cloud-scene at even, 

Of the elements deftly arrayed 

That a gorgeous effect may be given, 



136 Our Profession 

Of the mists and the winds and the light, 
Of the "Mendings that art cannot teach, 

Of the mysteries hidden from sight 

That our knowledge would gladly reach, 

Of the order, the purpose, design, 
In the pictures that hang in the sky, 

We know that the hand is divine 
That arranged all their brilliancy, 

Then our faith lifts the curtain that hides 
The Spirit that ordered the plan, 

And assures us He ever abides 
To encourage and elevate man. 

At sunset my spirit shall sing 

Of the beauties the elements yield, 

Let my heart then its off'ring bring- 
To the Artist of sky and of field. 

"When my soul from its dwelling of clay, 
Shall escape to that unknown sphere, 

May it be at the close of the day, 
When the glories of sunset appear. 

Soothingly, sweetly comes unto me 
The thought that my soul may rest, 

In a land whose glory shall be 

Like cloud-scenes that glow in the west. 



And Other Poems. 137 



SELFISHNESS. 

\A/HO lives for self alone should be 

Placed in some lonely, hollow tree, 
And left to toad and bat and owl — 
To creatures man considers foul — 
Where he shall be perpetual prey 
For frightful ogres night and day. 

A narrow soul that lives for self, 

Should stand on some old musty shelf, 

Where spiders, rats, and vermin throng, 

And listen only to the song 

Of filing saw and creaky mill, 

And owlet's hoot and whip-poor-will. 

"Who lives for self is not afraid 
Of meanest thing God ever made, 
For he himself is that same thing; 
Though peasant, plebian, or king, 
He thwarts the purpose of God's plan, 
He lacks the impulse of a man. 

No soul enwrapped within itself, 
Or dwarfed by pride, or love of pelf, 
Can serve its Maker or mankind 
As nobly as was erst designed 
By the Great Architect above, 
Whose being is Unselfish Love. 



138 Our Profession 



RETROSPECTION. 

f sit when the shadows are stealing 

The light of departing day, 
And think of the scenes and pleasures 
I enjoyed in my childhood's play. 

I can picture them all so plainly, 
They seemed not a day gone by, 

I recall the fields and garden, 
The lake and the clear blue sky. 

I can see the bright water no whig 
At the foot of the sloping hill, 

The dam that impeded its progress, 
The toy-wheel of water-mill. 

I can trace every line and feature 
Of trees and the shadows they cast, 

The lanes, the rocks, and orchards, 
That on journey to school were past. 

I can close my eyes for an instant 
And draw a scene to my mind, 

That seemes like a photo-engraving, 
As true, as complete, as defined. 



And Other Poems. 139 

Time's flight has not djm'd or shaded 
One outline the scenes gave then, 

Though the years that have intervened, 
Are nearly two score and ten. 

There's a central, attractive figure, 

With heart unselfish and warm, 
That always appears in the picture — 

'Tis my mother's benignant form. 

I can see her in all the beauty 

And glow of a mother's pride, 
As she patiently watched and labored 

For her children at her side. 

How sweet to my soul is the power 
To so clearly these scenes portray; 

I pray that to life's latest hour 
This bliss be not taken away. 



140 Our Profession 



ALONE. 

" And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should 
be alone ; I will make him a help meet for him." — Gen. 2, 18, 

A LONE ! God saw His creature man, 
^^ Deprived of great felicity, 
And changed the order of His plan 

That earth in harmony might be 
With all the products of the spheres, 

Which move in such perfect accord, 
That through aeons of passing years 

They but proclaim a perfect Lord. 

The earth was fair and fresh and young, 

The stars hung in a cloudless sky, 
Sweet perfumes on the air were flung 

From every breeze went laughing by; 
The brook and bird in wanton glee, 

Attuned their notes in such refrain 
That earth was full of minstrelsy, 

And heaven re-echoed it again. 



And Other Poems. 141 

God's image, man, heard not the strain, 

No beauty charmed his listless eye, 
Earth spread her treasures but in vain, 

In vain shone the bejeweled sky; 
Earth gave no food for hungry heart, 

No solace-cup from which to sip, 
Defective seemed Nature and Art, 

To soul robbed of companionship. 

A " help meet " then to man was given , 

To soothe and cheer his lonely way; 
Eve was an afterthought of Heaven 

That crowned the last creation-day. 
Create anew, Almighty Power, 

A " help meet " for the desolate, 
Let no wild sophistry devour 

The solace Thou didst last create. 



142 Our Profession 



LOVE. 



[Written after reading Shakespeare's sonnet commencing, 
Love is not Love which alters when it alterations finds."] 

[ OVE is a sort of cannibal 

And lives upon its kind, 
It dares all dangers, fears no foes 

And to the world is blind, 
While faithful heart unswerving beats, 

Or pines in forced retreat ; 
It deems all tortures fate may send 

Are perfumed with the sweet 
Aroma of implicit faith, 

Born of a kindred soul 
That to the outer things of life 

Spurns puny hate's control. 

Love, undeceived, is perfect bliss 

When trust reciprocates 
The purest, sweetest touch that Heaven 

Within the soul creates; 
But fierce Vesuvius cannot burn 

With such destructive flame, 
As fires Love's victim of deceit 

Stung by the taunts that claim 
No truthful fountain as their source, 

No mild- voiced Justice to allay 
The cauldron of defenseless fraud 

Distilled through treachery. 



And Other Poems. 143 

Love that dissembles is not love, 

But a subtle treachery, — 
A siren with a charming voice 

That sounds o'er a mirror sea, — 
A beacon light set to allure 

From a harbor safe and calm, — 
A soothing drug whose deadly power 

Yields to no proffered balm, — 
A smiling face with winsome glow 

But poisonous, blasting breath, 
That breathes upon its victim, draughts 

Of sorrow, tears, and death. 

Love that would gain a mastery 

To wield for pelf or power, 
Is not a love born clean and pure 

O'er which no evils lower, 
But like a miasmatic clime 

That yields delicious fruit, 
It hides the venom it distills, 

And seeks its sole repute 
In outward show and pageantry, 

Wherein are deep concealed 
The poisoned arrows plumed for death, 
It would not have revealed. 

Unselfish love is but a spark 

Of God's own spirit dropped from Heaven, 
The richest boon, the sweetest joy, 

That unto mortals God hath given; 



144 Our Profession 

Within itself it hath a power 

To lift the soul on joyous wings, 
Attune the heart to harmonies, 

And softly touch the tensioned strings 
That vibrate in such unison 

With other strings so like its own, 
That not a discord may be heard 

In cadence, blend, or tone. 



As a cricket sang his song to me 

On a late September eve, 
The tone had a sadness in it, 

That over my spirit did weave 
A spell of gloom, at the requiem 

He sang in his solitude, 
For the dying year, th' fading leaf, 

And flowers by frost subdued. 



And Other Poems. 145 



LIES. 



|F aught on earth niy soul can fire, 

"lis the deception of a liar 
Who with soft smoothness of the tongue, 
Has promises and pledges strung 
To suit all needs that come to hand, 
To serve the purpose Satan planned. 

Satan himself, I think, would shun 
The presence of that artful one, 
Who violates truth's sacred laws, 
Regardless of the end or cause, 
But deems it strategy to live 
For the sole purpose to deceive. 

If hell has any corner where 

Vile culprits may be doomed to share 

The merits they richly deserve, 

It should be held in strict reserve 

For them whose flattery and art 

Are used to kill a trusting heart. 

Let me abhor, loathe, and despise 

The author of those fiendish lies, 

Who would for pleasure, greed, or power, 

The confidence of youth devour, 

And blight the soul with foul distrust, 

Or trample honor in the dust. 



146 Our Profession 

No sting of pain can e'er atone, 

No purging fire was ever known 

For cleansing of a heart defiled 

By falsehood; though it may be styled 

In diction, affability, 

It poisons like the upas tree. 

Beware the tongue that will deceive, 
At last 'twill cause your soul to grieve 
Though smooth its accents now may be, 
Its motive power is treachery, 
Its fruits are laden with disease, 
Although its tones may often please. 

Dissimulation's oily tongue 
"Will grace Simplicity, among 
Her unsuspecting, trustful throng, 
That he may do her greater wrong, 
And covertly defile the pure, 
Some envied purpose to secure. 



And Other Poems. 147 

HEARTSTRINGS. 

F*HE tiny trembling tendons 
That twine about the heart, 
Are chords that yield a music 
Unknown to vocal art. 

Though soft the notes are sounded, 

Each vibration tells a tale 
Of the mellow, winsome sunshine, 

Or of fierce, destructive gale. 

Though the strings be few in number, 

They have compass far beyond 
The myriad chords around them, 

That are less delicately tuned. 

List we softly to the music 

As its volumes gently roll, 
Varied in their intonation 

By the tension of the soul. 

Ecstatic measures fill us 

With a rapture so profound, 
That we fancy heaven's portals 

With such harmonies abound. 

Each note is rich in meaning, 

Each tone is full and clear 
To the charming sweet delusion 

Of imagination's ear. 



148 Our Profession 

If you would hear this music 
And be charmed by its tone, 

Attune your heart to harmony, 
For the music is its own. 

No lessons conned in schooldays, 
No studied forms of art, 

Can profit us so greatly 

As communion with our heart. 

It will sing us songs of rapture, 
Though silent each may be; 

It will help to solve the questions 
Of life's great mystery. 

If one would hear sweet harmony 
He carefully must live; 

For these songs will be an echo 
Of the keynote he shall give. 

If heartstrings be but tuned aright 
Sweet melodies we hear; 

If strung with envy and deceit, 
The tone is doleful, drear. 

Then let us tune our hearts with joy, 
And touch the strings with glee, 

For honor, truth, and purity, 
Will bring soul-ecstasy. 



And Other Poems. 149 



WHO KNOWS? 

T T matters not what "be our lot 
Upon this mundane sphere, 
In spite of fears and burning tears 

While we shall linger hear, 
We must depend on foe or friend 

For many things we need 
To give the soul that full control 

Which makes it strong indeed. 

For noble end, make him a friend 

AVho can reciprocate, 
A kindly act, not to it tacked 

The proof of reprobate. 
God only knows whom we may choose 

And safely trust as brother, 
The seeming saint may have a taint 

That proves him quite another. 

In human dust we scarcely trust 

The egotistic pious, 
Who thinks that he from sin is free — 

Not subject to its bias ; 
A holy man does all he can 

For God and human kind; 
He meekly lives, but counsel gives 

In language pure, refined. 



150 Our Profession 



TWILIGHT HOUR 

[Set to Music by Com. T. C. Adams.] 

I love to spend the twilight hour 

When stars their radiance o'er me cast, 
With that benign mysterious power 

Which calls up mem'ries of the past, 
And brings anew the scenes of yore, 

Like sacred perfume from some shrine 
Whose hallowed influence ever more 
Proves life and love of birth divine. 

Sweet twilight hour ! sweet twilight hour ! 
How blissful is thy magic power, 
At thy return new strength is given 
To lead me to the gates of heaven. 

I love at such an hour as this 

To hold sweet converse with my soul, 
Anticipate a promised bliss, 

Or memory's charmed page unroll; 
To feel life's not alone for me, 

But has some aim, some end, some plan, 
Which to the soul gives dignity, 

And leads toward heaven a fellow man. 



And Other Poems. 151 

I love at twilight hour to see 

The lamps of heaven iu glory shine 
With beacon-light effulgency, 

To guide me to that land divine, 
Where dwell the loved of former years, 

And where no sorrow e'er may come, 
Where God shall wipe away ail tears, 

And I shall find abiding home. 

Oh, twilight hour, how sweet thou art ! 

Thy coming oft relieves my pain, 
Thy soft communings with my heart 

Prepare me for life's toils again; 
Drive thou away my sordid thought, 

And give my soul augmented power; 
Teach me to use thee as I ought, 

Thou holy, blessed twilight hour. 



Let us not lose the heritage 

Our fathers did bequeath 
To sons whose grasp should hold secure 

The prize, till hour of death 
Shall still the heart, and loose the nerve 

Whose tension holds secure 
The magic love of Liberty 

And Justice, strong and pure. 



152 Que Profession 



THE HAIR 



C INCE the clays of primal story 

Of Eden's happy pair, 
A woman's greatest glory 

Is her glossy flowing hair; 
It is a safe criterion 

By which to judge her life, 
To ascertain, if duly won, 

She'd prove a worthy wife. 

Its color and arrangement, 

Its sunshine and its storm 
Prefigure an estrangement, 

Or friendship true and warm. 
We dearly love the sunshine 

Of locks with golden hue, 
That bear this blessed combine — 

Kind, tender, warm, and true. 

"We read volumes of character 

In every lock of hair; 
The life, the mind, the heart's prefer 

Are plainly written there; 
No printed index could portray 

The soul's environment, 
So plainly and so perfectly 

As capillary bent. 






And Other Poems. 153 

Beware the frouzy, unkempt lock 

That speaks of negligence; 
Eegard causmetic's fancy stock 

Of little consequence; 
Trust only such as speak of taste 

Born of a cultured mind, 
Whose purposes are pure and chaste 

Whose structure, soft, refined. 



A thoughtful mind may lessons draw 
From faded leaf or broken straw; 
May beauty see in some lone star 
That cheers the storm-tossed mariner; 
May note in solitude some sound 
Wherein soft harmonies abound; 
May hear no voice from human lip; 
Yet dwell in blest companionship. 



154 Our Profession 



LIBEBTY. 

I NTO the port where Liberty stands 

Inviting the nations to woo her, 
Malefactors swarm from foreign lands, 
Whose tenets would surely undo her. 

Criminals, paupers, the ostracised 

From all countries beyond the great sea, 

Flock into the land our fathers prized, 

And baptized "The Sweet Land of the Free." 

They come not to build a hearth and home, 
Or to clear and improve our rich soil, 

But prowl like wolves that in forest roam, 
And prey on fruits of our honest toil. 

Long were our shores a refuge secure, 
For the honest, the brave, and the true ; 

With valor and pride, men would endure 
The trials that for State might accrue. 

Men there are yet, who come to our shore, 
In honor high, of great moral powers, 

Whose hands give strength to homes we adore, 
And whose hearts are as loyal as ours. 



And Other Poems. 155 

For these there is room and welcome, too, 
For there's land quite enough and to spare, 

But we pray that all the vicious crew 
To their homes o'er the sea may repair. 

Shall we quarantine disease and death, 
Whose subtle infections float in the air, 

And grant free power to the pois'nous breath 
That would strangle our Liberty fair ? 

Sons of the Nation, arise in might ! 

And then swear by the God we adore, 
This vicious crowd shall be put to flight, 

And forever debarred from our shore. 

Freedom and Liberty need our care, 

If from wounds we would e'er keep them free, 

For a frenzied brain would even dare 
To destroy through base treachery. 

Long live the land unto freedom given, 

And forever may Liberty stand, 
With beacon flame from the throne of heaven, 

And a symbol of Light in her hand. 

When stars shall fade from the dome of heaven, 
And sun shall refuse his golden light; 

When noon of Time shall be changed to even, 
And earth shall be lost to human sight; 



156 Our Profession 

When crash of worlds and revolving spheres 

Shall lose in chaos, identity; 
And Time shall be measured not by years, 

But on shall roll through eternity; 

Then Liberty's form may sink in dust; 

But loyal sons shall transported be 
From the mundane scenes of moth and rust, 

To the perfect home of Liberty. 

I ween that when such an hour as this, 

Shall marshal friends who have fought and died 

For the sacred cause of earthly bliss, 
And Freedom's cause have so magnified, 

There shall be a special crown for him 
Who has stood undaunted in the fight; 

But the brightest star in the diadem 

Is steadfast love for the Truth and Eight. 



And Other Poems. 157 



"LO," THE DEPAKTED. 

PHE Bison strong and the Indian wild 
Have departed from our plains; 
The land where they lived has been denied 
By man's greed for worldly gains. 

The human tide that on them has rolled 

In merciless energy, 
In search of that dazzling monarch Gold, 

Swept on like a mighty sea, 

Till their prostrate forms, mingled with clay, 

Enrich the soil once their own; 
And naught but waters shrink in dismay, 

And winds in wild sorrow moan. 

O, beautiful lakes and silver streams, 
May your names their meni'ry keep; 

Dear mountains, wake from your silent dreams, 
When your sides so wild and steep, 

Shall hear your names in the Indian tongue ; 

And echoes, reverberate 
The mellow tones of the songs once sung, 

At the hunter's evening fete. 



158 Our Profession 



DKIFTING AWAY. 

L_f O W softly, how still, are we drifting away, 

On the wide Sea of Life as it beckons us on, 
Though the sunshine allure us 'tis but for a day, 
Then darkness comes o'er us and hopes are all gone. 

We are drifting away in a bark that is frail, 

On a sea sometimes rough and whose waves often moan ? 

Yet when all is peaceful we think not of gale, 

But are drifting away in our bark all alone. 

So softly we float on a smooth flowing sea, 
That our helm and our anchors are cast to the shore, 
We think them a burden and wish to be free, 
From every encumbrance that can serve us no more. 

We are drifting away with our hopes and our fears, 
To an ocean of life unknown to us now; 
We see a bright vision — though veiled by our tears, 
It appears like refulgence to lighten the brow. 

Too slowly our bark seems to drift toward the prize, 
We in ecstasy wish it to speed faster on; 
But while we are wishing, a mist dims our eyes, 
And lo ! that bright vision has vanished and gone. 



And Other Poems. 159 

A gloom of thick darkness now spreads like a pall, 
The winds of the tempest arise in their force, 
And amid their wild shriekings for succor we call 
On Him who reigns o'er us, to mark out our course. 

We plead for protection from ruin and pain, 

Repiningly think of our anchor and helm, 

And could we secure those lost prizes again, 

No tempest could shake us, no wave could o'erwhelm. 

But swiftly we're drifting, we cannot tell where, 
The current moves onward regardless of gloom, 
We raise our weak voices and utter a prayer 
That God in His mercy is drifting us home. 



The silver stream by the farmhouse door 

Flows on and on forever, 
But the feet that trod its oaken floor 

Have crossed the mystic river, 
And no wind kissed by a vernal sun 

Can return them e'er again; 
Their earthly pilgrimage is done, 

They dwell in a new domain. 



160 Our Profession 



KINDKED SPIRITS. 

(^H, give me some heart of a kindred spirit 

That smiles when I smile, or that weeps when I weep, 
Whose solace is greater by far to inherit 
Than the wealth of the mines or the gems of the deep. 

Some heart that will echo response to my feeling, 
That thrills with delight when I speak of my joy; 
That sorrows with sorrow too deep for concealing, 
When cankering griefs make my own heart's alloy. 

Some heart that appreciates each little kindness, 
That knows all my feelings, tho' oft unexpressed, 
That sees not my faults with a passionate blindness, 
But clings to my soul when 'tis sorely distressed. 

Some heart whose affection can never be blighted, 
That beats all in concert with that of my own, 
That revels in pleasures with which I'm delighted, 
And grieves at the sorrows which cause me to moan. 

Some heart that can never be swerved from its mooring, 
Though tempests may thunder and billows may roar, 
That espouses my fate in spite of such roaring, 
And when trials are sorest will trust even more. 



And Other Poems. 161 

My heart would exult to find such a treasure, 
And return ev'ry throb in fidelity's pride, 
Would suffer if need be, and call it but pleasure 
To live or to die for a heart so allied. 

No frown of the world could e'er cause me to tremble 
While trusting my all in a heart such as this, 
Too fond to deceive me ; too true to dissemble — 
'Twere a foretaste of Heaven, the acme of bliss. 

Can it be, can it be, the world is so varied, 
Human hearts never beat on chords that are even! 
Is versatile man so odd, or so seared 
That perfect accord is known but in Heaven ! 

My heart shall rejoice that some kindred vibrations 
Soothe the devious marge of the pathway of fate, 
And gathering strength through many privations 
Shall learn in contentment to patiently wait. 



To sit an hour on lichened stone, 

Or mould'ring log by moss o'ergrown, 

And use our ears and eyes, 
Will teach us the effect and cause 
Of many of great Nature's laws 

That now are mvsteries. 



162 Our Profession 



SCHOOL DAYS. 



/^ AN we e'er forget our boyhood, 
^"^ And the days we spent at school, 
With the jolly youths and maidens 

Who with pencil for a tool, 
Squared the area of a circle, 

And minutely did compute 
The interest and discount 

On a promissory note ? 

As we worked those "grazing" questions. 

We could see the cattle eat; 
See the grass grow up by inches 

Beneath their cloven feet; 
We could surely hear a lowing 

That distinctly called our names, 
Inviting us to pastures 

To enjoy our childish games. 

If the day were warm and pleasant, 

The calling seemed more clear 
Than when chilly winds were sighing, 

And the clouds were dark and drear; 
It was no imagination, 

For a schoolboy's mind is real, 
Though we heard that calling often 

We answered it with zeal. 



And Other Poems. 163 

Then we worked like real bankers 

And claimed "three days of grace; " 
Then we figured " hare and greyhound" 

In their leaping, jaunty lace; 
We desired an illustration 

Of the problems to be solved, 
As no concrete computation 

From the abstract e'er evolved. 

We solved the size of fishes, 

When some fraction and a part 
Were all the given bases 

To test our "number" art, 
But we never were contented 

With the fishes in the book, 
So we strolled off to the lakeside, 

Or down the purling brook. 

Then we had some given acres 

In the form of perfect square, 
And a fence around its border 

With a circle must compare, 
Which would cost the greater money 

To fence it in with rails, 
Or build with posts and stringers, 

Sawed lumber, and cut nails. 

Then we worked upon that problem 
Which has never yet been solved, 

How to live and be contented 
In the scenes life has evolved, 



164 Our Profession 

Though in every operation 

Much must be inferred, 
We will find this root's extraction 

Will often prove a surd. 

As life's day of sunshine lingers, 

Ere the darkness draws apace, 
'Tis a blessed satisfaction 

To look backward o'er the race, 
And feel that in the running, 

Our best was ever done, 
And know that at the ending, 

Some trophy must be won. 

Though the eye may lose its clearness 

And the touch may lose its thrill, 
Though the senses fail to gather 

All the promptings of the will, 
May the mind retain its power 

To recall the days of yore, 
Till the spirit casts its anchor 

On that far-off unseen shore. 

When on that shore safe landed, 

It seems to be quite plain 
That the greatest satisfaction 

Will be to think of youth again; 
There must be a great transition 

From this mundane sphere below, 
If the thoughts of early boyhood 

May not set all heaven aglow. 



And Other Poems. 165 



PERHAPS. 



DERHAPS had I chosen some other profession 

Than that of moulding the human mind, 
I might have secured a greater possession 
Of lucre and treasures and powers combined, 

Than all I may now of these truly own; 
But I have in my casket some jewels I treasure 
Far more than all stocks and houses and lands, 
In gold and silver their worth has no measure, 
For none may compute warm hearts and true hands, 

When the shadows of years are over us thrown. 



There are two kinds of discontent- 
Malignant, and progressive, — 

The latter is the proper sort, 
Of it, be quite possessive. 

The former, born of parentage 
Whose motive powers are evil, 

Serves but one purpose here below- 
To aid its father— Devil. 



166 Our Profession 



IMPORTANT MOMENTS. 

PHERE are times when the fate of nations 
May hang on a moment's call; 
When spheres in their mute rotations 

May swing on a hinge so small, 
That the breath of a spirit's pinion 
Might unpoise a balanced world, 
And lost to law's dominion 

Through endless space be hurled. 

There are times when the herdsman's calling- 
May vibrate thro' alpine ranch 

Till the pendent drop, by its falling, 
Sweeps down in an avalanche, 

Till the mountain trembles and totters 
'Neath the mighty force of snow, 

And the lives and homes of the cotters 
Are lost in the vale below. 

There are times when the mind's inaction 

Has robbed the soul of power, 
When moments of deep reflection 

Arrive at so late an hour 



And Other Poems. 167 

That they lose the force of their mission 

In the laggard way they come, 
And like withered buds of fruition, 

Are lifeless, powerless, dumb. 

There are words that have been spoken 

That have echoed on thro' years; 
Though the vessel has been broken 

That voiced them to our ears, 
Yet they come with increased ardor 

As the years are passing by, 
Since the soul stood on the border 

Of vast eternity. 

There are scenes that ever mirror 

Their forms in thought divine, 
That with lapse of time grow dearer 

Till we hold them as some shrine, 
Wherein are kept the treasures 

Of Faith and Trust and Love — 
A trio fraught with pleasures 

Drawn from the realms above. 

There are hours upon whose decision 

The fate of a soul may be; 
Though clouds may obscure the vision 

And we pray for a light to see 
The way that shall lead to heaven, 

And keep our pathway bright, 
We can use but the knowledge given 

And walk in our purest light. 



168 Our Profession 

Let us scan each hour's requisition 

And answer every demand, 
Knowing that want of decision 

Is a foe we cannot withstand; 
If we shrink from performing our duty, 

Or tardily fashion our thought, 
Life loses its charm and its beauty 

And existence profits us naught. 



We know that like all human 

Our work is imperfect at best, 
And will bristle with imperfections 

Till our hands shall be at rest; 
But to justify our blunders 

Or pass them lightly o'er, 
Is the fatal way of inviting 

A thousand errors more. 



And Other Poems. 169 



WHO SHALL JUDGE? 

\A/E know not all that we have done. 

Nor may we ever know; 
No field was ever lost or won, 

Until the final blow 
Has registered itself in Heaven, 

And every impulse known, 
That tells a reason why 'twas given, 

To Him upon the Throne. 

Then let us boast not of our deeds, 

Nor let our true hearts fail, 
Because we think some plan succeeds 

While others ne'er prevail; 
For he who works as best he can 

With lofty, pure intent, 
Will not be judged by puny man, 

But God Omnipotent. { 



This earth is a place of probation, 
A school wherein man may secure 

A knowledge of his true relation, 
To the noble, the true, and the pure. 



170 Our Pkofession 



THE FUTUKE. 

T know not what the future 

May have in store for me, 
I only know that God is God 
And He may trusted be. 

The past with all its pleasure 

And all its sorrow too, 
Has been but a probation 

To prove me false or true. 

If in my earthly mission 
No progress has been made 

Toward a higher spirit — 

No growth of soul displayed — 

Then dark, sad, and foreboding 

The future must appear, 
The soul must shrink in terror 

When death's hour draweth near. 

If in the past no brother 

Has felt my outstretched hand, 

To aid him on his pilgrimage 
Toward a better land, 



And Other Poems. 171 

No word of mine brought solace 

To a weary careworn soul; 
No hand of mine has pointed 

To the Christian's heavenly goal; 

No thought, or word, or action 

To lead to better life ; 
No balm to heal deep anguish; 

No anodyne for strife; 

Then shall I hear the sentence, 

" You did it not to me," 
Come from the sacred Teacher 

Who taught in Gallilee. 

If I have wronged my brother, 

In action or in thought; 
Have forced him into sorrow, 

Or counted him as naught, 

Have borne false witness of him 

Or robbed him of his peace ; 
Unjustly taken from him 

Or hindered his increase, 

The words of condemnation, 

"You did it unto me," 
Will fill my soul with terror, 

Distress, and misery. 



172 Our Profession 

My soul has wronged no being 

Of just and honest part; 
But on this sole reliance 

It would not dare depart. 

Not in its own weak merit, 

Not in itself alone, 
But in the great redemption 

Of Him who did atone 

For man, and bid him enter, 

The gates of joy and rest, 
Through faith, and prayer, and penitence, 

Upon a Savior's breast. 

I shrink not at the future 

Whatever it may be, 
But joy in full assurance 

Of faith's expectancy. 



Let me pass away when my work is done, 
Like a cloudless day whose setting sun 

Leaves a smile on the evening sky; 
Let this transient clay when deprived of breath, 
With the earth yet stay, it alone knows death, 

Myself must live on and cannot die. 



And Other Poems. 173 



EEE AND AT MY CALL. 

C RE I lay me down the burden 
^ That my soul on earth hath worn, 
Let me feel before departing, 

That my tree of life hath borne 
Fruitage that shall ever onward 

Move mankind along the road, 
Toward the haven of the blessed 

Toward the city of my God. 

Let some word that I have spoken 

Or some act performed by me, 
Sound aloud thro' coming ages 

Making captive souls more free ; 
Not to bring me earthly glory 

Nor to win me empty fame, 
But to prove the mighty power 

In a risen Savior's name. 

Let my work be all completed 

When the summons comes to go; 
Let there be no cause for weeping, 

Let there be no sound of woe, 
When the spirit from my Father 

Beckons me from duty done, 
To appear at His tribunal, 

And receive the crown that's won. 



174 Our Profession 

Let there be a joyous sunset, 

Lighting all the realm above 
With the radiance and the glory 

Of a Savior's dying love; 
Let my faith be firm, unshaken, 

Let His hand be clasped in mine, 
Let me cross the mystic river, 

Leaning on His breast divine. 



BODING SNOW. 

jTHE sky that was blue and sunny, 
Has changed to a granite gray, 
The sun that was soft and cheery, 

Refuses it mellow ray; 
On the distant tree-top, cawing, 

Sits a solitary crow; 
These and the shivering children 
Betoken the coming snow. 

Soon the flakes will be falling, 

Like down from an angel's wing, 
That is sent from the starry regions 

For Nature's covering; 
The trees, the plants, the grasses, 

With rev'rence bow their heads, 
For the pure and fleecy mantle 

That God above them spreads. 



And Other Poems. 175 



AN OPEN BOOK. 

L- [ 0\V strange are the stories we sometimes read 

In faces we meet by the way, 
They unconsciously tell of motive or deed 
That the tongue would refuse to betray. 

Each lineament is a page set apart 

To be studied and understood 
By the shade that reflects the mind and heart, 

In their varied forms and mood. 

The eye oft reflects the secrets of soul 

That are occult to all beside, 
And form of the mouth defying control 

Betrays what the heart fain would hide. 

The quivering chin and tear-bedewed eye 

That respond to a kindred word 
That unconsciously fell from a tongue passing by, 

Oft betrays how th' heart has been stirred. 

There are fountains so deep in some human lives 
That from them no draught can be drawn, 

Save the perfect mirage the face ever gives 
Of the soul when reflections dawn. 



176 Our Profession 

How varied the pages we daily read — 

Some are joyous and full of glee, 
While others may tell of brave hearts that bleed, 

And then break in deep misery. 

The facial page to me hath a charm 

That no printed book can impart, 
'Tis no fancied tale, 'tis no false alarm, 

But stern truths from the human heart. 

Pencils write plainly each act, on the face, 

Each motive indulged is seen there, 
No after decision can fully erase 

The masks faces ever must wear. 

If the face would be fair and bright and young, 

Wear a charming, a joyous hue, 
To truth and to right heart-strings must be strung, 

Every thought, every act must be true. 

Let the pencil of truth inscribe on the face, 

Let honor illumine the eye, 
Let generous thoughts and acts ever grace 

The face-page the world shall descry. 



And Other Poems. 177 



SOME CHARACTERS I MUCH ADORE. 

A N honest man with noble mind, 

With heart sincere, true, and refined, 
Who lives for God and all mankind, 

Who cares for rich and poor, 
And opens wide his soul to see 
The sweet designs of Deity, 
Yet from all prejudice is free, 
Is character I much adore. 

The man who all his rights will claim, 
But gives another just the same, 
And shares with equity the blame 

Of faults done long before, 
Who will not shrink when sorely tried. 
But firmly by the truth abide, 
E'en when his own faults are allied, 

Is character I much adore. 

A man who will not plead a cause 
That violates the nation's laws, 
Or seek to give Justice a pause, 

For gold or worldly store, 
But Pallas-like will e'er defend, 
Alike for foe, or trusted friend, 
The rights on which morals depend, 

Is character I much adore. 



178 Oue Profession 

A man who rises by his worth 

And not through fortune-favored birth, 

Who owns himself, though all the earth 

May bribes around him pour, 
Who wears distinction's jeweled crown, 
But not from trampling others down, 
Or acts that cause Justice to frown, 

Is character I much adore. 

The teacher who sees soul and mind 
In pleasing harmony combined 
Within the clay to be refined, 

And scans it o'er and o'er, 
That through instruction, skill, and love, 
It may expand and so improve, 
To honor earth and heaven above, 

Is character I much adore. 

The man of God who feels no loss 
To bear the burden of the cross 
Though waves of fury round him toss, 

That sometimes hide the shore; 
Who guides alike the rich and poor 
Toward Him who said, "I am the Door," 
And bids them come though sick and sore, 

Is character I much adore. 

The man who fills a humble lot 
As best he can, and murmurs not 
At what he has, or has not got, 
But uses all his power 



And Other Poems. 179 

To elevate his work and life, 
And knows no mean ignoble strife, 
With which the world is too much rife, 
Is character I much adore. 

A faithful wife bent low in prayer 
O'er suffering one in wild despair, 
While tender hands relief prepare 

Upon th' uncovered floor 
Of him who cursed her life by drink 
And caused her trusting heart to sink 
Upon Despair's cold, cheerless brink, 

Is character I much adore. 



Nature has printed the largest book 

That eye has ever seen, 
And filled it with colored pictures fair, 

In white and gray and green. 
She offers it free to all mankind — 

Noble, generous deed — 
But few there are in its pages rare, 

Have ever learned to read. 



180 Our Profession 



SOME CHARACTERS I CAN'T ADMIRE. 

PHE seeming saint with long drawn face, 
Who thinks that he has so much grace 
He should be throned on highest place 

To which saints may aspire, 
And yet, when dealing with a man, 
Will use some vicious, subtle plan 
By which a vantage he may gain, 
Is character I can't admire. 

The zealot who thinks God has given 
A delegated power from heaven 
To him, to see that men are driven 

To escape a burning fire, 
Yet draws no souls by filial love, 
But deems the world can never move 
By holy influence from above, 

Is character I can't admire. 

The man whose prayer is long and loud, 
Whose knee is bent, whose head is bowed — 
With worldly goods richly endowed 

With all man can desire, 
Yet sees a worthy brother fall, 
Without responding to his call 
For aid to soothe starvation's gall, 

Is character I can't admire. 



And Other Poems. 181 

The teacher who devoid of heart, 
Unskilled in pedagogic art, 
With looks and acts severely tart 

Would loathesome tasks require, 
Of pupils dulled by daily grind, 
Or stirred by words unjust, unkind, 
Which leave a canker in the mind, 

Is character I can't admire. 

The mother who aspires to be 
A beacon light of charity, 
Regardless of the nursery 

Whereof she seems to tire, 
Who thinks her husband needs no care, 
But drives him wildly toward despair 
By meagre love, and frigid fare, 

Is character I can't admire. 

The husband who spends days and nights 
In low resorts, mid brawls and fights, 
In which his heart greatly delights, 

But stops not to inquire, 
If wife and child have needed care, 
Or from his draughts he may not spare 
The pittance they should justly share, 
Is character I can't admire, 

The millionaire who doth obtain 
His wealth by brawn and muscle strain 
Of those he poorly doth maintain 
Through scanty meed and hire, 



182 Our Profession 

Who will not justly, freely give 
A recompense whereby may live 
In health, the man who makes him thrive 
Is character I can't admire. 

The man who feels no poignant ruth 
At the dethronement of a truth, 
That to old age from tender youth 

Has felt no fervid ire 
When hate and envy swayed the tongue, 
And took no pride in checking wrong, 
No matter where it may belong, 

Is character I can't admire. 

The man who lives for self alone, 

The man whose truth and honor 've flown, 

The man who hears a fellow groan 

Or sees a soul expire, 
And lifts no friendly hand to aid, 
No sympathy of soul betrayed, 
No fevered brow with balm allayed, 

Are characters I can't admire. 



And Other Poems. 183 



ON BROOKLYN BRIDGE. 

f stood upon the slender link 

That joins two cities into one, 
And saw from thence the storm-clouds drink 
Their moisture from the sun. 

I watched their lowering, frowning edge, 

Girt round with silver band, 
Saw castles tall and towering ledge 

Assume their forms so grand. 

I saw the marshalled hosts of heaven 

Join for the mighty fray, 
Their ranks by tempest-winds were driven 

Along their dark highway. 

High in the heavens the giant forms 
Of chariots, horsemen, towers stand, 

Whose home is ever 'mid the storms — 
When chaos reigns, most grand. 

I saw the fragments of the cloud 

Join with the nucleus form, 
Cirrus to Nimbus quickly bowed — 

Sure harbinger of storm. 



184 Our Profession 

These were but outward signs I saw, 
Portending danger, strife, and fear, 

Yet still I knew by Nature's law, 
Beyond the clouds, 'twas clear. 

In spite of cloud and storm and strife, 

Of tempests wild, severe, 
There's sunshine in our daily life, 

If one true heart is near. 

No battle vanquishes the true, 

E'en thought of death is sweet 
To him whose soul would e'er subdue 

The scorpion-sting — deceit. 

One trusting, true, and tender heart 

Can cure a thousand ills, 
Extract the poison from the dart 

Of malice e'er it kills. 

Oh, marshalled hosts of warring clouds ! 

Teach me this truth to know, 
There's light beyond, though trouble shrouds 

The valley here below. 



And Other Poems. 185 



THEIK LIFE IS WHAT THEY MAKE IT. 

| ET melancholy mortals grieve 
And tell their tale of sorrow, 
Their gloomy spirits to relieve, 

But all returns to-morrow; 
For all the while they court their grief, 

Unwilling to forsake it, 
And in the way they seek relief, 
Their life is what they make it. 

They brood o'er sorrow day by day, 

With dreams they are affrighted, 
But never strive to cast away 

What most their spirits blighted; 
And if fair fortune chance to smile 

And give no cause for sorrow, 
They're not content to rest awhile, 

But off they go and borrow. 

Avoiding all life's pleasant ways 

Their life is always clouded, 
They see no happy sunny days, 

For all in gloom is shrouded; 
They never see the flowers that bloom 

As on Life's road they ramble, 
But in the darkest paths of gloom 

Are seeking for a bramble. 



186 Our Profession 

The pleasures of this life do not 

Depend on its surrounding, 
But if the heart's trained as it ought, 

Content will be abounding; 
The silent heart's the seat of joy, 

And by continual training 
Life's trials scarcely will annoy 

The soul where peace is reigning. 

Then tell me not Fate made them so, 

And they cannot avoid it, 
That all their life is doomed to woe, 

And they have not alloyed it; 
For all the while they court their grief, 

Unwilling to forsake it, 
And in the way they seek relief, 

Their life is what they make it. 



The atmosphere may be redolent 

With fragrance from some happy soul 
Whose unconscious influence has sent 

Attractive power, like magnetic pole, 
Till laugh of bright eyes is contagious, 

Infectious, the mirth of a smile, 
And the ominous brow umbrageous, 

Casts aside its lowerings vile. 



And Other Poems. 187 



THE LONE BIRD. 

A solitary bird was seen by the writer, making its toilsome 
flight against a strong storm-wind. The peculiar undulating 
flight, the gathering darkness of the night, and the portentous 
indications of storm suggested this : 

V\/HITHEIl away on such winged undulations, 

Breasting the winds and the tempests wild glee, 
Lifting your form in graceful vibrations 
As onward you move like a billowy sea ? 

Alone, all alone, on wing wide extended, 

Nerved for the tempest that sounds not afar, 

Night her dark mantle o'er earth has suspended, 

Thro' which may not shine e'en the light of one star. 

Stop, lonely wanderer, and tell me why mateless, 

Tell me the story of your solitude; 
God, e'en a bird has not left so fateless 

But somewhere there lives a companion for you. 

Tell me if death has robbed you of treasures 
That sweetened the tone of your vesper song; 

Tell me if fears have destroyed all the pleasures 
Which justice and right say to you should belong. 



188 Our Profession 

Tell me, yes, tell me, and tell me most truly, 
Is there just cause why your flight is alone ? 

Is there some stain whereby you are duly 

Debarred from the pleasures that should be your own? 

Still but your wing and confide me the story, 
Chant it to me in a short plaintive song; 

Perhaps it may speak of a sweet transient glory 
That faded and died 'mid disaster and wrong. 

Perhaps I may speak some word that has healing 
For solitude's wounds, e'en sweet tho' they be, 

For sorrows augment by sacied concealing, 
And steal from the heart ev'ry wish to be free. 

Dear blessed bird ! you have stopped at my pleading, 
My soul aids my ears to catch your sweet tone: 

" If life is not sweetened by presence and breeding, 
'Tis better by far to travel alone. 

" I have learned as my wings have borne me thro' groves 

Where gods their ambrosial nectar sip, 
That the heart's best experience ever proves, 

Joy comes not from presence, but companionship. " 



And Other Poems. 189 



A LESSON FROM NATURE. 

/^ who has not felt his gay heart beat with gladness, 
^ > ^ As forth he has wandered some morning in Ma}'? 
It drives away care and relieves us from sadness, 
It cheers the lone heart and makes us feel gay. 

We see how all Nature rejoices around us, 

The plants as they spring from the earth seem to smile, 

The fresh growing leaves of the groves now surround us, 
And soft sounds of Spring-time unite to beguile. 

The earth is now teeming with bright vegetation, 
The early spring flowers are now in their bloom, 

And where'er we look there appears animation 
Just bursting the cells of the last winter's tomb. 

The soft breeze of May-day, we welcome it near us, 
As filled with rich fragrance it comes thro' the trees, 

And the bright feathered songsters apparently fear us 
No more than the odors that float on the breeze. 

They tune their sweet voices and sing their devotion, 
Their hearts seem so light, so merry and free, 

That ideal beauty graces each motion, 

While they playfully dart from bush and from tree. 



190 Our Profession 

Our hearts beat with rapture too great for expression 
While viewing sweet Nature, so lovely, so gay, 

And hearing those sweet lulling sounds in succession, 
We wished in our joy it always were May. 

Thus tempted to linger and spend one short hour, 
In looking around us in bliss most supreme, 

We found a choice spot in a fine shady bower, 

Where near it there murmured a bright silver stream. 

From this lovely spot we intently were watching 
The scenes that surround us on this merry May, 

Every strain of grove-music our ears were now catching, 
And we saw every movement that came in our way. 

A sweet, tiny bird on a twig near the river, 
Was warbling softly his choice matin lay, 

While near on a branch we soon did discover 
A serpent preparing to make him his prey. 

Then glancing the eye to a branch that was near them, 
We saw there a nest that contained a young brood; 

While this parent bird was singing to cheer them, 
The other returned to the nest with their food. 

The worm which she held in her beak she soon gave them, 
Then off in the thicket she darted again, 

To seek for their food, and from hunger relieve them; 
But on her return how great was her pain ! 



And Other Poems. 191 

For while she had wandered, this serpent intruder 
Had charmed her loved mate, as he sat on the spray, 

His sweet song had ceased, and his notes became ruder, 
But his fluttering wings could not bear him away. 

We flew to the rescue — struck down the invader 
Before the sweet songster had yielded his life, 

Put an end to this cunning and mischievous raider, 
And quieted all of the songster's great strife. 

We learned from the scenes of this morning's ramble 
That moments of happiness soon may decay; 

While plucking the flowers to beware of the bramble, 
Which hid among blossoms may sadly betray. 

We learned that the joys of this world are not lasting; 

That what we call pleasure may be a vain show ; 
While joys seem the sweetest they only are blasting, 

And happiness frequently ends in great woe. 

We learned that when Nature seems most to invite us, 
To build some fond hope on some loved scheme of ours, 

That there may be sadness preparing to blight us, 
Which evades all our watchings, defies all our powers. 



192 Our Profession 



MY MOTHER'S LOVE. 

Nine months after writing this poem, my mother died, 
Dec. 21st, 1894. 

J\A Y vision eye beholds a form, 

Bent low by years of life's fierce storm, 

That moves with feeble tread; 
Though time has worn that weary frame 
The heart still keeps its sacred flame 

True, undiminished. 

No power but Death can ever quell — 
No mortal tongue can ever tell 

A mother's boundless love; 
'Tis shadowed in the secret sigh, 
Or in the moisture of the eye — 

E'en silence, it may prove. 

Itself and I had but one birth, 

It came from heaven to gladden earth 

And brighten man's abode; 
To feel the magic of its power 
Is richer boon than any dower 

The earth has yet bestowed. 



And Other Poems. 193 

Favored in this has been my lot; 
Eelentless Death has robbed me not — 

Though fifty years have flown, 
Of all the ecstasy and joy 
That came to me when but a boy, 

Or since to manhood grown, 

Of that benign maternal smile, 
Whose magic influence can beguile 

My heart from worldly care, 
And lead me toward that beacon-light 
Of motive pure and act aright, 

No matter when or where. 

O blessed influence of the past ! 
May all my mother's counsels last 

Until my heart shall cease 
To send its crimson current round 
The tenement wherein 'tis bound, 

And Death shall bring release. 

Still let these visions come to me 
Of her I would so gladly see 

Though far from her I roam; 
They bring sweet memory of the past, 
Which but a few more years may last, 

Of happiness and home. 



194 Our Profession 



THE EVENING BEFORE MY BROTHER'S 
FIFTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY. 

P\EAR Brother, liow the time speeds on 
And leaves its trace upon our forms; 
The days of sunny youth are gone 
And age unfits us for the storms 
That gather oft for you and me — 
To-morrow you'll be fifty-three. 

It seems but yesterday since youth 
Was all aglow within our hearts, 

But still we recognized the truth, 

Old age has pierced us with his darts 

Until from pains we are not free — 
To-morrow you'll be fifty-three. 

Long years of toil and anxious care 
Have left their records all too plain; 

The failing eye, the snowy hair, 

The limbs and body racked with pain, 

Tell tales that all the world can see — 
To-morrow you'll be fifty-three. 



And Other Poems. 195 

Still on life's battlefield well fight 
And win such victories as we may, 

Believing still that right is might 

And faithful hearts shall win the day; 

Then let us shout and sing with glee — 
To-morrow you'll be fifty-three. 

And when a few more days are past 

And we are bowed with years and care, 

The cheerful sunshine still may last 
To make declining years more fair; 

Ah ! much I hope that this may be — 
To-morrow you'll be fifty-three. 

'Tis sweet to think of boyhood's days 

And all the happiness they gave, 
To summon back life's earliest plays 

And call lost childhood from its grave; 
Thus memory gives us victory — 

To-morrow you'll be fifty-three. 

Since manhood's form was given me 
Until this hour, our ways have been 

In different lines of industry, 

And scarce have we each other seen; 

Your birthday's held in memory — 
To-morrow vou'll be fifty-three. 



196 Our Profession 



MY BROTHER'S BIRTHDAY. 

ClFTY-eight to-day, fifty-eight to-day! 

How years of your life have sped away, 

And left in the "brown of the dying year 

A quiet content, devoid of fear 
At the onward march of Time's noiseless feet, 
Which ever advance, but ne'er retreat, 

As they bear you on to that silent shore, 

From which earth's mortals return no more. 

With the flight of time come the sunset cares, 

The faltering step, the snowy hairs, 

The tottering frame, and the stifled breath, 
Sure harbingers of approaching death, 

That bring with their train a tranquil repose 

Unknown to the tears and sighs and woes 
That belong to scenes of an active life, 
Whose atmosphere breathes of toil and strife. 

As glorious day dies out in the west 
And sinks in crimson splendor to rest, 

While the stars of heaven come one by one 
With reflected light from th' sinking sun, 
So may life with you in its late decline, 
Leave a trail of light that yet may shine 
To illumine the path that others tread, 
And cheer the way of the vanquished. 



And Other Poems. 197 

TO MY DAUGHTER BLANCHE IN HEAVEN. 

Died Jan. 4th, 1893, aged 11 years. 

T^ARLING of my bosom, 

Pride of my loving heart, 
Hopes were sorely shattered 

"When I saw your life depart ; 
In you I saw my future, 

Cheered by your smile and voice, 
Sorrow ceased its frowning, 

My spirit would rejoice. 

Life was made much brighter 

By your presence sweet ; 
At your cheery coming 

Heart-shadows would retreat ; 
Soulful songs with meanings 

Beyond your years were sung ; 
To chords of sweetest rapture 

Your heart-strings e'er were strung. 

From out the realms of heav'n 

Still you speak to me, 
And fancy draws the curtain 

That I your face may see ; 
Perhaps in the hereafter 

I yet may fully know 
The purpose of your going, 

Your mission here below. 



198 ^ Our Profession 



THE VOICE. 

IHO me comes a voice that none other 
Hath power to hear or to know, 
Its cadence so sweet and consoling 

Is a whisper so gentle and low, 
That the flight of an angel might covet 

The silence it bears in its tone ; 
It speaks to me often, to comfort 
My heart when I sit all alone. 

I oft close my eyes at the twilight 

And that voice comes floating to me 
Like the song of some fairy creature 

That dwells in a pearl-lighted sea: 
When the shades of midnight infold me 

That voice lulls me gently to rest, 
And tells me the time is not distant 

When my spirit shall dwell as its guest. 

When shadows of night are departing 

And smiling Aurora appears, 
That voice of sweet invitation 

Falls soothingly into my ears ; 
A form that I fondly cherish 

Like a vision of beauty I see, 
That comes on an angelic mission 

With counsel and solace for me. 



And Other Poems. 199 

How sweet is the voice that is calling — 

Is calling in rapture to me 
And leading me close to the border 

Where into its home I can see ! 
It tells me the land is not distant, 

That soon when my boat I must launch, 
I shall know the voice that is calling, 

Is the voice my lost darling Blanche. 



When Liberty lies wounded, 

And shrieks in wild despair, 
Then patriots will cast aside 

The party garb they wear, 
And honest hands and hearts unite, 

To wash away the stain 
That narrow-minded partisans 

Would selfishly maintain. 

Dear Goddess of our fathers ! 

Our hands shall e'er maintain 
The sacred trust of keeping free 

The realm where thou dost reign; 
And counting not our lives too dear 

To offer unto thee, 
We dedicate all that we are 

To our sweet Liberty. 



200 Our Profession 



A PICTURE. 

I sat by the farm-house window 

When the winter's sun was low, 
And looked on the clear horizon 
O'er fields white-crested with snow. 

A tree with its arms outstretching, 
Was limned on the distant sky, 

And my fancy saw a picture 
Such as gold can never buy. 

Perhaps to no other vision 

Could the scene be just the same, 

For blendings in the picture 
Had on me a special claim. 

My mother oft had looked upon 
That fair picture in the west, 

While sitting in that self-same chair, 
Ere she laid her down to rest. 

This gave a charm to the picture 

Of especial power to me, 
And my vision saw a painting 

That none else on earth could see. 



And Other Poems. 201 

I can close my eyes at twilight 

Though now many miles away, 
And see that lovely horizon 

At close of expiring day. 

I can see the true formation 

Of each rock and tree and field, 
In a perfect panorama 

That time has not yet concealed. 

It is not an idle fancy 

For me now to paint the scene, 
Since my mother's form has faded 

From the place where she has been. 

I know it affords me comfort 

To recall from day to day, 
That scene from the farm-house window, 

Since my mother passed away. 



202 Our Profession 



MY EOOM IN BOYHOOD'S DAYS. 

After forty years. 

O ACRED these walls wherein I find 

Myself inclosed once more; 
Here in youth's pride my ardent mind 
On nightly tasks would pore. 

Sweet were these tasks, for mental power 

Comes with each duty done; 
And ray of light charmed midnight's hour 

When thought its victory won. 

Oft did the battle seem severe, 
Sometimes defeat seemed nigh, 

But pride and love must persevere 
When all our powers we try. 

Struggles bring a development 

That will not brook defeat ; 
Within us dwells an element 

That makes just contest sweet. 

If barriers in our mental path 

Stand like a sullen foe, 
Summon the soul, in righteous wrath 

Strike a decisive blow, 



And Other Poems. 203 

And spare not till the victory 

Puts ignorance to flight; 
And let the battle-cry e'er be 

Science and Truth and Right ! 

Such victories, when fairly won, 

Put slaughter's field to shame, 
And Honor's self shall place upon 

Such victors, wreaths of fame. 

O happy hours within these walls, 

But happier far to me 
Is the expanded mind which calls 

Deep thought, best liberty. 

That mental power which sees the world 

As beauty, grace, and art, 
Wherein God's loveliness unfurled, 

Speaks to a living heart, 

And leads it tenderly to see 

The harmony of laws 
Which unifies immensity, 

And tells of the First Cause, 

Yields greater solace, richer lore, 

Than books alone can give; 
For mind and soul form the great power 

By which we act and live. 



204 Oue Pkofession 

Tlie wealth that dignifies mankind 

Is not in bonds and stocks, 
But in rich thoughts, noble, refined, 

Needing no bars nor locks. 

When man for manhood more shall] strive, 
And less for greed and gain. 

The humble poor may nobly live, 
And feel not hunger's pain. 

These walls are sacred unto me, 
For thought here learned to soar 

And build the ark of liberty 
I love, exalt, adore. 



NATURE'S VOICE. 

C VERY tree and plant, every tiny flower 

That grows in wood or field, 
Hath a voice that calls aloud to me, 
And a beauty half concealed, 
That draw my ears to hear a strain 
Of music sweet and low, 
And paint for me far richer hues 
Than the sunset's evening glow; 
They speak to me as no tongue can speak; 
Their voices are sweeter far 
Than the tones that fall from human lips, 
Or strains of sweet music are. 



And Other Poems. 205 



POUNDKIDGE, N. Y. 

DEBHAPS no spot upon this sphere, 

Has charms for me more sacred, dear, 

Than those of old Poundridge; 
I love her hills, her lakes, her streams, 
Her rural haunts, where Nature teems 

With joys naught can abridge. 

Her dew-bespangled meadows shine 
With gems of radiance so divine, 

When touched by matin sun, 
That myriad pendant drops of dew, 
Lend to the mead a brilliant hue 

Like earth with diamonds strown. 

The woods that sleep on distant hills, 
Or watch o'er gently murmuring rills, 

Seem restful to the soul; 
Their silence brings sweetest repose, 
A panacea for the woes 

That spurn M. D's. control. 

The healthful, healing, peaceful rest, 
To frame fatigued, to mind distressed, 

Seems but a foretaste here, 
Of that serene and blest abode, 
WTiich to the faithful child of God 

Hereafter shall appear. 



206 Our Profession 

I love the rustic's rough demesne, 
Which yields to toil a wealth unseen 

To those of civic life; 
For here I drank, in youth's bright dawn, 
The draughts of vigor which were drawn 

From labor's busy strife. 

I love the house wherein I played, 
The yard o'erspread by maple's shade, 

The nearby babbling brook; 
The fields o'er which my youthful feet 
Sped onward toward the trout's retreat, 

"With dangling line and hook. 

I love the path across the wood 
Which once I trod in search of food 

For hungering, thirsting mind, 
The room where pupils used to meet 
And strive to make their work complete 

And manners more refined. 

All these I love for what is past, 

And still must love while life shall last; 

But I do love still more 
The souls who fired my mental lamp, 
And on my character did stamp 

Truths fraught with richest lore. 



And Other Poems. 207 

I see my aged mother there, 
My father in his old arm-chair, 

And fancy hears their voice; 
My brother jet so full of joy, 
Has passed the limits of a boy, 

But still can much rejoice. 

Upon the hill, the lakes between, 
Are sacred mounds of living green, 

Where sleep my precious dead; 
A vacant spot reserved for me, 
To which my heart looks longingly, 

Invites my weary head. 

No greater boon could I e'er ask 
When I have finished earthly task, 

Than quietly to rest, 
Surrounded by her vales and hills, 
Her laughing lakes and singing rills, 

And friends that I love best. 

Tho' many years now intervene, 
My mind recalls each boyhood scene 

Of field and wood and bridge ; 
These cherished memories only prove 
Abiding faith and filial love 

Toward restful, old Poundridge. 



208 Our Profession 



TIM. 

\A/E remember well when a schoolboy, 

When pliant in mind and limb, 
We had for a boon companion, 

A bright youth whose name was Tim. 

He was sturdy, strong, and honest, 
In body and mind he had vim, 

So we learned by intuition, 

To place much reliance on Tim. 

We fished and hunted together, 

In summer, the lakes we would swim, 

Skated their surface in winter, 
With mercurial, wonderful Tim. 

Our tasks at school were a union, 

And when thoughts were distant or dim, 

A light illumined the pages, 

That seemed a reflection from Tim. 

Reciprocal visits were often, 

He slept with me, I slept with him, 

Talked till near dawn of daylight, 
With fluent and scholarly Tim. 



And Other Poems. 209 

Decades have passed since that season, 

My hair is reduced to a rim, 
But my heart beats as warm as ever, 

For that friend of my youth, named Tim. 

As years fleet away, we treasure 

The power of our mind to skim 
O'er the scenes of early doings, 

With valiant and trustworthy Tim. 

A third of a century over, 

Still a friend have we now like him, 

Exact in his every bearing, 

And his name is — unchanged — Tim. 

We wonder if in the hereafter, 

When we range with the Seraphim, 
Happiness will be augmented 

By the kindly presence of Tim. 

We trust an expanded mission 

Will fill us with joy to the brim, 
As we ramble the fields of glory, 

With genial and faithful friend Tim. 



210 Our Profession 



THE UNWRITTEN LETTER. 

On receiving sprigs of Forget-me-not and Lilly-of-the- 
Valley in envelope, through mail, with no note or name inclosed. 

| N form it was a letter, 

Unique in its every part, 
The expression could not be better, 
For it touched my inmost heart. 

No pen had marred its beauty, 

No ink had traced a line, 
It did its silent duty 

Like a messenger divine. 

Upon its page was written 

No English, French, nor Greek; 

But a universal language 
That only flowers can speak. 

The colors were pure whiteness 

And heavenly tints of blue, 
Excelling all the brightness 

That art can bring to view. 

The Lily-of-the-Valley 

And sweet Forget-me-not, 
That grow where perfumes dally 

In sweet secluded spot, 



And Other Poems. 211 

When sent to tell some story 

That words cannot express, 
Are fraught with special glory 

And richest tenderness. 

Their perfumes speak of gladness, 

Their colors of delight, 
They neutralize dull sadness, 

Turn darkness into light. 

They link the heart of sender 
To heart to which they're sent, 

And unto both will render 
The sweetness of content. 

I love them for their clearness, 
Their whiteness and their blue ; 

But added to such clearness 

Is the thought they came from you. 



212 Our Profession 

ALL THINGS ARE SECOND-HANDED. 

On being asked to write an original poem. 

PHERE'S no new thing under the sun," 
Said the ancient priest and preacher; 
What seems now new is only done 

To quicken some old feature 
That lies effete, or badly worn, 

And lacks its pristine rigor, 
That needs an energizing touch 

To give it life and vigor. 

The sun that shines on us to-day, 

Shone on our ancient parents 
Who walked upon the primal clay; 

And science fully warrants 
That not one atom has been lost, 

And not one atom added 
To all the atom matter host, 

Although some forms have faded. 

The gorgeous colors that are cast 

On cloud-land morn and even, 
Are but reflections of the past 

That erst had sj)angled heaven 
With glories from that mystic throne 

Whose blendings none can rival, 
But whose expiring tints, alone, 

Admit of a revival. 



And Other Poems. 213 

The rain tliat drops has dropped before; 

Our flowers were another's; 
The songs we sing were sung of yore 

By long departed brothers; 
The sounds we hear are but the tones 

Or echoes of the past; 
We live among the mouldering bones 

Of forms too frail to last. 

Then ask me not for something new, 

All things are second-handed, 
The old may sometimes be more true 

Than that more lately branded; 
But taking things as best we can, 

We know 'tis only human 
To shun a second-handed man, 

Or a second-handed woman. 

But let us not be too severe 

On second-handed matter, 
For nothing seems to be more clear 

Than that we should not flatter 
Our souls into a fatal state, 

Of scoffing at the common, 
For who can tell what cruel fate 

May make of man or woman ? 



214 Our Profession 



FACES WE READ. 

/^\NE may read from the face at leisure, 

From the leaf that reflects the soul, 

The thought, the desire, and the measure 

That imprint on the facial scroll 
The innermost mind and its actions, 

The heart with its strongest desires, 
The passions, impulses, and factions 

Which animate clay oft inspires. 

Ev'ry line of th' face has a father 

Wliose hand has engraven it there, 
But shades of the spirit are rather 

Betrayed in the hue of the hair; 
The pencils of thought, true to nature, 

Have written their records so plain, 
That a skillful eye reads each feature 

That dwells in the heart and the brain. 

One may peep into occult recesses 

Which only the face will reveal, 
May read what the tongue quite represses 

But the eye cannot fully conceal, 
May fathom the deepest depressions 

Wliere the soul has buried its woe, 
Where the heart would hold secret sessions 

With scenes and events long ago. 



And Other Poems. 215 



The writer applying for a room at Newpoint Inn, Amityville, 
Long Island, was informed that the house was full. Some 
friends, stopping near, kindly invited him to go with them. He 
accepted. After his departure he sent the following : 

AMITYVILLE. 

I was a stranger and ye took me in, 

Hungry and ye fed me," 

No place for me at Newpoint Inn, 

So home you kindly led me. 

Some say the world is cold and sour, 

Devoid of fellow-feeling, 
But day by day and hour by hour, 

To me comes a revealing 

That warm hearts beat where'er we go, 
Kind hands are gladly serving 

The kindred hearts which ever show 
They truly are deserving. 

The world, indeed, may frigid be 
When icebergs float around it, 

But w r arm, true hearts of constancy, 
Have uniformly found it 



216 Our Profession 

To be a place where fragrant flowers 
Deprive the thorns of stings, 

Where sunny souls spend happy hours, 
And Nature laughs and sings. 

We make our paths, we dwell the lives 

Selected by ourselves; 
We shape the destiny that gives 

Our fate to gods or elves. 

Then let us know this truth full well 

Wherever we may be, 
We have a power to help us dwell 

In the ville of amity. 



Robin is a singer; sweet and pure and clear 

Are the notes he warbles from his covert near; 

Softly, oh ! how softly, at the sunset's glow 

Does he chant his vespers, plaintive, sweet, and low. 

Robin is an artist; he beautifies the stream, 
The vale, the hill, the meadow, until they truly seem 
To glow, because his presence gives to each a tongue 
To echo back the music his minstrel throat has sung. 



And Other Poems. 217 



TRUE WEALTH. 



T^HE smallest type of manhood that lives, 
* (If manhood it may be called,) 
Is that which knows no power but wealth 

That is measured in stocks and gold; 
It looks in disdain on a working man 

Who declines to bend his knee, 
Though in honor's scales he may outweigh 

The scorner, in great degree. 

There's a wealth that far surpasses all 

The houses and stocks and gold, 
That ever was on the market placed, 

To be by a hireling sold; 
'Tis the wealth of manhood, noble, free, 

And an independent mind 
That scorns to swerve from justice and truth, 

But faithfully serves mankind. 



218 Our Profession 



PIOUS PIE POEM PUNS. 

Dedicated to my Ex-Pier. 

/^NE pious afternoon in June 

^^^ When pyronomics held full sway, 

My pilot, fancy, led me on 

To seek new fields, piebald and gay. 

The pianet rested in shade, 

The lark, piano-voiced, sang not, 

But pining for some genial maid 
To pioneer me to a spot, 

Where pine or oak might shield from heat, 
My thoughts turned piously to where 

Pierian pleasures one might meet, 
And pious converse jointly share. 

Pyrometers were all at home — 

No doubt the figures mounted high — 

She sighed and said she could not roam, 
Then pitt (i) ed me with cherry pie. 

Piacular may she not be, 

And thus escape the eternal pyre, 
No pirate's heart would dance with glee 

Like mine, to see that maid — Ex-Pier. 



And Other Poems. 219 

FIDELITY. 

A Legend of Trinity Lake, Poundridge, N. Y. 



Eead at a Farmers' Picnic, Trinity Lake, Sept. 1, 1891. 



The Eippowams were a tribe of Indians living along the 
Sound near Stamford and Norwalk, Ct., and extended their ter- 
ritory for some miles northward. The Kitchewonks were a 
tribe living on the Hudson, near Sing Sing and Peekskill, N. Y., 
and found their way eastward. In the early days of the Indian 
occupation of these lands the Eippowams followed up the stream 
running from the three lakes— Eound Pond, Middle Pond, and 
Lower Pond— while the Kitchewonks followed that branch of 
the Croton which finds its source in Cross Pond, now Lake 
Kitchewan. For the possession of these grounds there were 
frequent battles between these tribes, as the lake-land abounded 
in fish and game. The intercourse between these tribes, both 
belonging to the Mohegans, was very limited, at first, but in 
course of time became more frequent and friendly. A lime and 
marble ridge separates Lake Kitchewan from the three lower 
lakes and forms a watershed between the Hudson and the 
sound. 

In recent years a dam was constructed by the Stamford 
Water Co., and the three lakes were made into one, and very 
appropriately called thereafter, Trinity. The lakes are supplied 
almost entirely by springs, as no streams of any size empty into 
them. 



220 Our Profession 

For several years, in the spring time, a floating island ap- 
peared in Trinity, upon which vegetation grew abundantly. 
This island sank upon the approach of cold weather and re- 
mained in a state of hibernation until the spring came. Some 
person or persons who had no love for the romantic, curious, 
and beautiful, loaded it so heavily with stones that it sank to 
rise no more. 

In its departure the lake sustained the loss of an attraction 
which is known in but few lakes in the world. 

A large rock, estimated to weigh eight or ten tons, is so 
nicely poised upon another rock, upon a high point about fifty 
rods west of the lake, that a gentle pressure of the hand will 
cause it to rock perceptibly. 

Directly opposite the picnic grounds are precipitous rocks, 
below which the waters are extremely deep. — The Author. 



\A/HEN the infant world in its swaddling band 

Of mist and cloud and storm, 
Assumed its forms of sea and land, 

And the lakes and streams were born, 
In this western w T orld, on the eastern shore, 

Four leagues from the inland sea, 
Came a liquid crown set with jewels four, 

But in union only three; 
For the northern gem was a solitaire 

And barred from the lesser three, 
By a marble wall wrought strong and fair 

By the hand of Divinity. 



And Other Poems. 221 

A silver thread from the Trinity 

Kan southward through the wood, 
Till it lost its flow in the land-locked sea, 

And was merged in old Neptune's flood; 
But the northern gem in a mystic race 

Sent a message toward the west, 
And linked itself in the kind embrace 

Of the Hudson grandly dressed. 



Ten thousand moons had waxed and waned 

And flung on the mirror sheet 
A train of beauty, with no discord stained 

Since creation stood complete. 
Here antlered deer had slaked their thirst 

And fought their imaged form; 
Here rolling tones of thunder burst, 

As a harbinger of storm; 
Here song of bird and sigh of breeze 

Had ne'er met human ear; 
The beast on land, the fowl on trees 

Dwelt here in peace and knew no fear. 

Brave Kitchewonks had traced their way 
Along the stream that westward ran, 

While Rippowams pursued their prey 
Until this lake-land was their van. 

'Twas here Mohegan met again 
The blood that in Mohegan flowed, 

But each regarded not the vein, 



222 Our Profession 

Though kinsmen, foes they firmly stood. 
This lake-land, rich in fish and game, 

Was ground for strife and war and blood; 
From west and south the warriors came 

In battle paint and surly mood. 
The Kitchewonks near northern lake 

Upon the Bippowams looked down, 
And hoped their power and pride to break 

E'er harvest-moon had fully grown. 

Almeta on the western stream 

Now mourned her absent Ponomo, 
For harvest-moon had sent its gleam 

Across the Hudson's tidal flow, 
And at its full he was to come, 

And her to lake-land safely guide, 
Where they should make their future home, 

And she should there become his bride. 
But he had with Eippowams' band, 

Marched forth to meet her kinsmen dear, 
And face to face they sternly stand 

Prepared for battle-storm severe. 

Her heart bid her to dare the shock 

And seek him near the hostile camp; 
Her mind her heart would basely mock, 

And boding fears her ardor damp; 
The bondage of her heart so great 

Her coward mind could never free; 
She heeds no danger, dares all fate, 

And this her brief soliloquy: 



And Other Poems. 223 

' ' I know that tribal laws demand 

My life if I should thither flee, 
I must obey that great command — 

God's higher law — fidelity. 
No other lips my lips have pressed, 

No other arms encircled me, 
Since he my maiden form caressed 

And each breathed vows of constancy. 
For me at each returning moon 

He journeyed through the forest wild, 
Braved dangers that my heart hath won, 

And now I must not be defiled 
By any doubt or any fear 

That death or suffering may bring. 
I'd count such sacrifice not dear 

If I must be an offering. 

"What though my blood may stain the soil, 

Devotion mark me for a slave 
Through weary years to strive and toil, 

Or fate should sink me neath the wave ! 
'Twere better far that such should be 

Than I should violate my heart 
And all that's sacred unto me 

By acting a base traitor's part. 
I must away, I must away 

To meet him by the silvery lake ! 
'Tis crime for me to longer stay 

I will not, cannot now forsake." 



224 Our Profession 

She speeds along the forest trail 

"Where warriors late in painted form, 
Had marched through Kitchewan's fair vale 

To meet their foes in battle-storm. 
Her eyes are watchful to survey, 

Her ears detect the lightest sound, 
Her heart and mind to her betray 

"Where barriers to her flight are found. 
She shuns them all by tact and skill; 

Most gladly she to him will prove 
The power that's in a woman's will, 

The faith that's in a woman's love. 

From hill and ledge she scans the ground 

While dangers seem her faith to mock; 
But highest point by her is found, 

She stands upon the swaying rock, 
Which seems unsteady 'neath her feet, 

And makes her doubt if she can stand 
To make inspection so complete, 

She may discern Ponomo's band. 
The trembling rock and trembling heart 

Are firmly fixed, no power can move; 
But from its crest she must depart 

In search of him her heart doth love. 
She stands beside the central lake 

Along whose shores the war-whoop rang, 
And softly for her own heart's sake, 

This song of harvest-moon she sang : 



And Other Poems. 225 

"The hunter's moon now floods the night 

Turns darkness into day, 
The wood and lake in mellow light, 

Charm grief and care away. 

" The sparkling water's silvery gleam 

My sorrow soothes for me, 
And lifts my soul in fancy's dream 

To thoughts so pure and free. 

" So bright the light that fills the night, 

The song-birds sweetly sing; 
From tree to tree they take their flight 

On swift yet noiseless wing. 

"Now come, Ponomo, come to me, 

I wait your coming here; 
You promised 'neath this hemlock tree, 

At midnight to appear. 

"My heart, my life, my all is yours, 

And you are all to me; 
Faith trusts your promise and assures 

Unchanged fidelity. 

" I know your heart is warm and true, 

Your love not cold or dumb, 
No earthly power can it subdue ; 

I know that you will come." 



226 Our Profession 

She hears a footstep drawing near; 

Her voice is mute, her song is done, 
She waits, Ponomo to appear, 

In shadowed silence all alone. 
Beneath lugubrious hemlock shade 

Her heart beats with expectancy, 
And Kitchewonk's own dusky maid 

Trusts Rippowam's fidelity. 
He comes! She sees him near the lake; 

She knows his form, his step, his voice; 
No other charm for her could make 

Her heart and soul so much rejoice. 

They meet beside the water's edge 

Where hemlock boughs in silence nod, 
And there with mutual vow and pledge, 

In presence of their living Grod, 
They join the hand, the heart, the life, 

While harvest-moon a witness stood, 
That he the husband, she the wife, 

Should share in life's vicissitude. 
That sacred -pledge was heard on high 

And written by an angel hand, 
Nor priest, nor king, nor majesty, 

Could marriage rites perform more grand. 

No tribal laws or priestly hand 
Can rivet adverse hearts in one; 

Compulsion has no iron band 
So strong it may not be undone ; 



And Other Poems. 227 

But ties of mutual interest 

That spring spontaneous from the soul, 
Are never by themselves oppressed, 

Their silken cords have full control. 
To know, to feel, to fully share 

The joys and sorrows of this life, 
Unites the souls of mated pair, 

And make the husband and the wife. 

Ponomo and Almeta there, 

"Where juts of rocks 'neath hemlock boughs, 
Had breathed a mutual, fervent prayer, 

And each to each pledged sacred vows, 
When o'er the lake the war-whoop rang, 

And Kitchewonks, on every side, 
Swept down with shout and yell and clang, 

"Upon Ponomo and his bride. 
On north and south, and on the west, 

No way of night then could they take, 
So from the rough rocks' rugged side 

They plunged into the central lake. 

A hundred arrows cleft the air, 

But one alone had reached its mark. 
Ponomo felt it roughly tear 

Its way into his faithful heart. 
He shrieked and sank beneath the wave, 

Almeta followed after him; 
Their bridal couch was watery grave, 

The war-whoop was their requiem. 



228 * Our Profession 

The savage yell of victory 

Re-echoed then from shore to shore, 
While every rock and every tree 

Seemed deeply tinged with human gore, 
For when the moon from heavenly throne 

Looked down and saw the ghastly deed, 
It veiled itself and feebly shone, 

As if in agony to plead 
That human souls might ever know 

That God himself cannot approve 
The hand that strikes avenging blow, 

The soul devoid fraternal love. 

'Neath crystal waters of the lake, 

In silent, undisturbed repose, 
Where sounds of strife no slumbers break, 

Heedless alike of friends and foes, 
They slept the long, long sleep of death, 

Through centuries of rolling years, 
While o'er their forms the zephyrs' breath 

In playful eddyings oft appears. 
Their race has faded from the shore 

And left few traces that they were; 
The war-whoop now resounds no more, 

They bowed before White Conqueror. 
Full many a fathom 'neath the wave, 

Their forms have mouldered side by side, 
While shadowy hemlocks fringe the grave 

Of dark Ponomo and his bride. 



And Other Poems. 229 

The waters then were deeper made 

"Which gave their spirits much unrest, 
The lake their agony betrayed 

And seemed on every side distressed. 
One spring when Nature gaily dressed 

With charms that could the mind beguile, 
There rose upon the lake's fair breast 

A hibernating, floating isle. 
Devoid of life it seemed at first, 

Chaotic, dull, with beauty none, 
But rays of sunshine on it burst 

And changed it to a paragon. 

Two alders sprang from near its edge 

And twined in close embrace, 
While ferns and grass gave certain pledge 

That Time should give it smiling face. 
But when the frosts of autumn fell 

It sank from sight, perchance to rest; 
No searching mind could ever tell 

The secret of its rising crest. 
For years, at each returning spring, 

The isle would rise from 'neath the wave, 
As if to memory to bring 

Ponomo and Almeta's grave. 
But when the harvest-moon shone bright, 

It meekly sank ; as years before 
When on that dread, but fatal night, 

The faithful sank by rock-bound shore. 



230 Our Profession 

Its verdure grew, its alders spread, 
Its fame extended many a mile, 

'Twas type of resurrected dead — 
This hibernating, floating isle. 

But vandal hands destroyed the prize 

And sank it 'neath a weight of stones, 
While Almeta sends forth her sighs, 

And Ponomo emits his groans. 
Here let them rest, if rest they may, 

Amid the beauteous scenes around, 
And wait in peace the final day, 

"When at the angel's trumpet sound, 
The water shall give up its prey, 

The earth shall full surrender make, 
For heaven has not a type to-day, 

More perfect than this sky-blue lake. 



And Other Poems. 231 



FINIS. 

A FTER our labor is finished, 

After the struggle is done, 
A restful surcease awaits us 

At the setting of life's sun. 
If when our toil seemed the sorest 

The heart refused to retreat 
From a grand and noble purpose, 

Till the vic'try was complete, 
Then shall joyous crown await us, 

Ee splendent with jewels rare, 
And a radiance of honor 

The face shall benignly wear; 
Not that our works were all faultless 

And free from error and wrong, 
But because our sincere purpose 

Made us brave and true and strong. 

Results of labor thus rendered, 

Are safely trusted to Heaven, 
For He who knows ev'ry motive, 

Understands why we have striven. 
If to man were given the balance 

To adjust with equity, 
His weakness and imperfection, 

His greed and his jealousy, 



232 Our Profession and Other Poems. 

Might sway the poise fr'om adjustment, 
And his judgment go astray, 

Through the frailties of his nature — 
Imperfect humanity 

The Infallible in knowledge, 

"Whose true balance never swerves, 
Knows every man's Gethsemane, 

And the merit he deserves. 
He will not ask figs of the thorns; 

Of talents will not demand 
A greater increase than is just 

From a faithful steward's hand. 
Feeling the weight of the mission 

Incumbent upon our care; 
Searching the heart's deep recesses 

That vice may not shelter there; 
Working courageously onward 

The truth and right to defend; 
And asking a perfect guidance, 

We calmly welcome the end. 






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